Lodestar Lost
by Purupuss
Summary: What is the one thing that could destroy International Rescue? Epilogue added.
1. As Straightforward As They Come?

_Fanfiction .net hasn't given me enough options for the genre of this story, so to aid the reader, the full listing is:_

_Genre 1: Tragedy_

_Genre 2: Misery_

_Genre 3: Drama_

_Genre 4: Gloom_

_Genre 5: Mystery_

_Genre 6: Sorrow_

_In other words, another cheerful story from Purupuss. I'm an equal opportunities author. This time I'm beating them all up equally._

_Don't say you haven't been warned. I even had my proof-reader threatening to go on strike on me, and, for a time, the sale of tissues increased in England. On her advice, and to reduce the incidence of flames and/or suicide attempts, I am uploading the first few chapters two at a time. So I'm sitting here in my flame-retardant suit to protect my thin skin, with the Firefly at the ready, about to upload the first couple of chapters of my latest story._

_Once again, thanks to Quiller (and Albert), for gritting her teeth and helping me through it. Thanks to D.C. for her proofing skills. And thanks to those who created Thunderbirds. I don't own them and I am grateful for the opportunity to be able to write about them._

_Please ask my permission before listing this story in a C2 or elsewhere. Thank you._

_Enjoy_

:-) ?

_Purupuss_

* * *

What is the one thing that could destroy International Rescue? 

**One: As straightforward as they come?**

Jeff Tracy stepped up to the tarmac at the edge of the Kansas City airstrip and looked to the skies. "A bit overcast today, Bill," he noted.

"No wind though," Bill Webber, the superintendent of the airfield, admitted as he glanced at a windsock that hung limply from its pole. "You're going to have a good flight home in that plane. It's beautiful." He indicated Jeff's private jet, looking at it in the appraising manner of someone who'd spent many hours with aircraft. "I've never seen another like her."

"And you won't in the short term," Jeff admitted. "She's one of a kind. One of my engineers designed her expressly for me."

Bill grinned. "You still haven't taken me for that flight in her that you've promised."

"On my next trip," Jeff assured him. "I don't feel up to joyriding today."

Bill looked at him. "Something go wrong this time, Jeff?"

"No," Jeff shook his head. "Everything went as expected. Unfortunately."

"Business?"

"Of a personal nature. I've had to terminate… a long standing venture." Jeff sighed. "Now I've got to go home and tell the family the shocking truth."

"Well, flying home in that," once again Bill pointed to the jet, "will cheer you up."

"I hope so," Jeff replied. "And I'll be glad to get home."

"In that case I won't keep you," Bill said. He held out his hand. "Have a good flight, Jeff. Give my best to the boys."

"Thanks, Bill, I will. See you next month."

"And don't forget that flight."

Jeff managed a smile. "I won't." He pulled a personal digital assistant from out of his pocket. "There," he said as he wrote in the PDA. "I can't forget it now. It's encoded into the old electric brain."

Bill laughed. "See you, Jeff."

"Bye, Bill."

Jeff walked out onto the tarmac, admiring his plane as he went. He had to admit that she was pretty special. Brains had designed her as a birthday gift a couple of years ago and the engineer, along with Jeff's sons, had built her when they hadn't been working on various International Rescue projects. She'd only been completed a month ago and, in Jeff's opinion, handled flawlessly.

Jeff reached the plane and examined her closely. It wasn't only out of admiration that he made the circuit of the jet, it was to check that everything was shipshape and in working order. He knew that the mechanics at the airfield had thoroughly checked her over and fuelled her up, but he was going to be flying a long way over ocean. He needed to be sure that the craft was in A1 shape.

Bill Webber watched the multi-billionaire do his circuit of the plane and wondered briefly what had been terminated.

"Mr Webber?"

Bill turned. "Yes, James?"

"You are required in your office. Horace Miles has a complaint."

Bill sighed. "That man does nothing but complain. Okay, I'll be along in a moment." He looked back at the Tracy jet. Jeff was no where to be seen, obviously checking the far side of the craft. Bill gave a hopeful wave and returned to his office and the irate Horace Miles.

A short time later the control tower heard Jeff Tracy request clearance to take off. It was granted.

The Tracy jet soared off into the greying Kansas skies.

* * *

Scott Tracy sat at his father's desk in a mild state of irritation. This was the last place that he wanted to be. His brothers had left a short time ago on a mission and he wanted to be out there leading them. If only this had happened a couple of hours later then his father would have been home manning International Rescue's base. "Couldn't they have waited half a day?" Scott muttered, and then chided himself for being so selfish. Somewhere out on the American mainland people were badly hurt and worse; and here he was complaining about being stuck behind a desk. 

He opened communications with Thunderbird Five. "How's it going, Alan? Has John got there yet?"

"I've just been talking to him," Scott's youngest brother sounded as though he was in the next room instead of 36,000 km above the Earth. "He estimates he'll be there in approximately five minutes.

"Let me know when he arrives."

"F-A-B, Scott."

* * *

John Tracy, at the controls of Thunderbird One, swooped down low over the rescue zone, following a blackened trail. A pall of smoke hung over the scene. It had clearly been a big explosion and most of the mall had been reduced to rubble. He could see people in neon coloured protective clothing digging busily, trying to save those that they could. 

It was those that the regular rescue authorities couldn't help that International Rescue were here to save.

John brought Thunderbird One down next a fire appliance, leaving plenty of room for Thunderbird Two, and shut down the motors. He pushed a button on the Thunderbird's control panel, removed the cartridge that popped out, and exited the rocket plane. He was met by a man wearing the same day-glow clothing as the others, but whose nametag proclaimed him to be the 'Incident Controller'.

"Boy, are we glad to see you guys," the controller said.

It was an introduction that the Tracys were used to receiving. "What's the situation?" John asked.

"We're still trying to ascertain exactly what happened. Looks as though he came in from this direction," the controller made a pass with his hand to demonstrate the angle, "and ploughed straight into the mall. Fortunately it's a quiet shopping day: but that's no comfort to those who were here. We estimate that there's at least 30 people trapped in the underground parking area. They are the ones who need your help."

"Okay. We'll do what we can." John held out the cartridge. "I took some high resolution video as I came in to land. We're going to have to destroy some of the scene to rescue those people and it might help with the investigation later."

The controller seemed surprised as he accepted the cartridge. "Thanks. What are you going to do?"

"We can't do anything until Thunderbird Two gets here," John admitted. "She's bringing a drilling machine that can tunnel down to those trapped. Is it possible to get me plans of the complex?"

"I'll arrange that now," the controller agreed and walked away, speaking into his radio handset.

John activated the mechanism that lowered Mobile Control from the belly of Thunderbird One. Deciding that in the shadow of the rocket plane was as good a place to operate from as any, he sat on the seat. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, John."

"I've arrived. They are getting the plans for me. How far away is Thunderbird Two?"

"Virgil says they're fifteen minutes away from the danger zone."

"Thanks. Can you put me through to him? And then you can tell Scott that I haven't crashed his precious plane."

Alan laughed. "F-A-B. Putting you through now."

Now, framed by a panel of gauges and dials, Virgil's face appeared on the screen. "Arriving in 14.58 minutes, John."

"Thanks, Virgil. Has Gordon checked out the Firefly and Mole?"

"Sure have, John," the auburn haired Tracy came and stood at Virgil's shoulder. "She's ready to roll."

"Good." John looked over towards the main command post of the rescue operation. "Here come the plans now. I'll let you know what to do when you get here."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied. "Out."

The screen went black.

The incident controller jogged up holding a roll of paper. "Here you are," he puffed.

John rolled them out on Mobile Control's console. "Where are we?"

"Here." The controller pointed at one corner of the plan.

"Okay," John looked from the plan to the devastation in front of him to get his bearings and blinked as soot was blown into his eyes. He wiped them and then looked back at the plan. "So this is the area where we've got to work?"

"That's it."

John looked at his watch. "Thunderbird Two will be here in about 13 minutes." He poured over the plans again. "Any idea why it crashed?" he asked.

"Not so far. We're still trying to confirm who the pilot was. Once we know that we'll be able to start making assumptions. We have our suspicions, but I can't say anything at this point."

"I understand," John said. "It's nothing to do with us anyway. We're here to help the living. We can't afford to spend time worrying about those who aren't." He straightened when he heard the sound of engines. "Here's Thunderbird Two."

Its shadow eclipsing the surrounding landscape, a giant plane flew low, lumbering towards the scene of the crash. The controller gaped at the craft in astonishment as a voice came from Mobile Control.

"Where do you want us to land?" Virgil asked.

"There's a clear area straight ahead of you," John told him. "It'll be a squeeze, but you'll have enough room to work."

Not long afterwards, the great green bulk that was Thunderbird Two had landed and was rising up on its hydraulic legs, leaving Pod 5 on the ground. The pod's door began to swing open.

"Gordon," John instructed. "Take the Firefly and clear an area big enough for The Mole in quadrant… 24/B."

"F-A-B," Gordon replied. A motor was heard to start up and a scoop, followed by a relatively squat machine, exited the pod and trundled down the ramp that had been formed by the door.

"You're going to need help," John told Virgil. "I'll come over and give you a hand."

"F-A-B." The drilling machine, known to those in International Rescue as 'The Mole', made its exit from the pod.

John smiled at the controller. "I'll be on channel three six, if you need to contact me."

"Roger," the chief replied. "Or should I say 'F-A-B'?"

John chuckled.

* * *

"What's happening, Alan?" Scott asked. 

"Gordon's using the Firefly to clear the ground," Alan replied. "John said he's going to go down with Virgil."

"I hope he locks down Mobile Control."

"Relax, Scott. He will." Alan was grinning. "Boy, we never have this grief from Dad."

"Well, I'm not him," Scott replied. "And I aim to make sure that everyone stays on their toes."

"Relax," Alan said again. "This is as straightforward as they come. We all know what to do and I'll guarantee that John won't crash Thunderbird One. He's as good a pilot as you are. He must be. We all learnt from Dad: the master."

Scott opened his mouth to make a retort, but closed it without saying a word.

---F-A-B---

John walked briskly, skirting the blackened entrails of the aeroplane that had crashed into the mall. As he walked he cast his eye over the scene, trying to work out what had happened and to double check that the regular rescue teams hadn't missed anyone who needed help.

A piece of relatively uncharred metal caught his eye and he stopped.

He stared at the panel.

He blinked, trying to erase its image.

It lay there, mocking him.

Without conscious thought he picked it up.

"John?"

He heard the voice say his name but didn't acknowledge it as he stared at the object in his hand.

"John?" Virgil repeated. "What are you doing? You know better than to disturb the scene any more than we have to."

John turned, the piece of metal still tightly held in his grasp. "Tell me I'm wrong, Virgil."

"Huh?" Virgil looked at his brother. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Tell me I'm wrong." John held out the battered piece of aeroplane. "Please tell me I'm wrong," he begged.

"Wrong?" Virgil frowned as he, with some reluctance, took the panel. "What do you mean wr…?"

John watched his brother's face pale.

"John," Virgil's voice was a whisper. "This is Father's registration number. It's from the panel under the pilot's cabin. I painted it myself."

"Yes," John croaked.

"Then this," Virgil turned to look at the wreckage. "This is Father's plane."

_To be continued…_


	2. Bam Moment

**Two: Bam moment**

"You are listening to World Radio. Headlines on the hour. Rescuers, including International Rescue, are fighting to free those trapped, after a light aircraft crashed into a mall in Kansas, USA…"

Scott turned the radio off and reinstated contact with Thunderbird Five. "Have you heard from John, Alan?"

"Negative, Scott."

"Well try and get hold of him."

"I was talking to him only fifteen minutes ago," Alan complained.

"I don't care, Alan. I want to know what's going on."

"Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on… Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control…" Alan tried again. "Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control…"

"Anything, Alan?"

"No. Hang on. John was going to help Virgil… Thunderbird Five to The Mole… Thunderbird Five calling The Mole…" Alan frowned. "Come in, John."

"Try reaching Gordon," Scott ordered.

---F-A-B---

"What do we do, Virgil?" John asked.

"I don't know, but you'd better put this back where you found it," Virgil handed his brother the panel from their father's plane and watched as it was placed reverently amongst the other scorched remains.

Gordon came running up to them. "What is it with you guys? Scott's having a fit because Alan can't get through to you. Haven't you got your radios on…?" He saw their expressions. "What's wrong?"

John stepped to one side so Gordon couldn't see the tell-tale writing in the wreckage. "Uh… Had a 'bam moment'," he explained.

International Rescue's work, holding people's lives in the palms of their hands, making decisions that could mean life or death, was stressful, and usually the brothers managed to cope with those stresses. But once in a while, it got too much. As John had explained after the first time it happened to him, everything was normal and then suddenly, BAM! It was as if the weight of the world fell onto your shoulders and you would collapse under that weight. It could have been caused by the smallest thing, such as the face of a child, but when it happened there was nothing else that could be done other than to accept the support of a brother and retire to the nearest Thunderbird until you'd got yourself together again.

They'd all, over the years, experienced these so-called 'bam moments'. They'd learnt that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

"A 'bam moment'?" Gordon repeated. He turned to Virgil. "What's with you?"

"Ah… Same," Virgil replied.

Gordon frowned. "Both of you! At the same time! We've never had that before. What are we going to do? I can't do this rescue alone."

"It's okay, Gordon," John reassured him. "Virgil and I will stick together. We'll be okay."

Gordon looked at Virgil who tried to give a reassuring smile. "Are you sure?"

"We're sure," Virgil said. "And we'd better make a start."

Gordon still seemed to be uncertain.

"Have you finished clearing the rubble?" John asked.

"No."

"Go do that then," John prompted. "We'll be okay by the time you've finished."

"Are you sure?"

"We're sure." Virgil echoed himself. "Go on, Gordon."

"Okay…" Gordon still sounded reluctant. "I could take one of your places…"

"Gordon! Go!" John ordered.

"Don't forget to call Scott, John." With one final concerned look at his brothers, Gordon returned to the Firefly.

"Do you think we've done the right thing, not telling him?" Virgil asked.

"One of us has got to keep his wits about him," John replied. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Not until we're about to leave…" He hailed a passing rescue worker. "We've found this," he pointed to the panel.

Without touching the piece of metal the worker read the inscription. "Looks like a registration number. Guess this'll clinch it."

"You know whose plane it was?" Virgil asked.

"We've got a pretty good idea," the worker admitted. "Radar was tracking him as he went down."

"I'm afraid that I picked it up," John admitted. "I tried to put it back where I found it."

"Shouldn't matter too much I wouldn't think." The rescue worker pulled out his walkie-talkie. "I'll let the powers that be know what you've found. Thanks, Guys."

John and Virgil hurried over to The Mole and collapsed into their seats.

Virgil started the drilling machine's motors. "Hadn't you better call Scott?"

"Not yet," John said as he checked the Life-Support Control Systems. "I've got to work out how I'm going to break it to him..."

---F-A-B---

Scott was still waiting for John's call. He jumped when the videophone rang. He answered it. "Good morning."

"Good, ah, morning, Sir. Ah… Would you be one of Jeff Tracy's sons?" The man consulted his notes, "Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon, or," he read the notes again. "Alan Tracy?"

"I'm Scott Tracy. My brothers are all away on business."

"Scott Tracy," the man repeated.

"And you are?" Scott prompted.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Mr Tracy. My name is Chief-Superintendent Gubb of the Kansas State Police Department. I, ah, I have news… about your father."

Scott frowned. "News? About my father? What?"

"I am sorry to have to tell you, Mr Tracy, that your father… has been killed."

Scott's mouth went dry. "I-I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly."

"Are you aware of the plane crash that occurred here, in Kansas, earlier today?"

Scott mind raced back to when Alan had alerted them to the emergency. "There's a plane that's crashed into a mall," he'd said. "There are people trapped in the underground parking area. They need our help."

Scott hadn't thought twice about the fact that the accident had happened in Kansas. The fact that this was the state which his father was flying out from hadn't crossed his mind. He'd immediately ordered his brothers to the USA in the two Thunderbirds. It was going to be a straightforward rescue. No problems. Nothing they couldn't cope with…

"Mr Tracy?"

"Sorry," Scott forced his attention back to the present. "Yes. I heard about the crash on the radio."

"We have to positively identify him of course. But all evidence points, so far, to your father having been the pilot."

Scott shook his head. "It's not possible. He's a good pilot. He's an experienced pilot. He flies regularly. He flew to the moon…" He stopped, realising that he was blabbering.

"We don't know the cause of the accident yet, Mr Tracy. And at this juncture it would be foolish of me to offer conjecture as to what caused the crash. There will have to be a full investigation…"

"I know," Scott interrupted. "I've been involved with a couple myself." He saw the police officer hesitate. "I was in the Air Force," he explained.

"Ah," Gubb replied.

"Could he have parachuted out?"

"It's unlikely. Someone would have reported seeing a parachutist. Also, no mayday call was received."

This rocked Scott as much as the realisation that the unthinkable had happened. If his father had been capable of doing so, he would have been trying to call up help. At the same time he would have been attempting to land the plane away from large centres of human activity. A shopping mall would have been identified as a place to try to steer clear of... if it were possible to do so… "Are you sure it was his plane?"

"Control was tracking his flight. They saw him lose height," Chief-Superintendent Gubb offered. "International Rescue found a panel with the plane's registration number amongst the wreckage."

Scott stared at him. "What did you say?"

"Control…"

"No! That last bit!"

"International Rescue found a panel with the plane's registration number amongst the wreckage."

"International Rescue? Who found…?"

The Chief-Superintendent look perplexed. "International Rescue. They are an organisation dedicated…"

"I know who they are!" Scott shouted, and then slumped back in his seat, pushing his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. This has been a shock."

"I know, Mr Tracy…"

Scott held up a hand. "Please call me Scott. Mr Tracy is… was… my father."

"I understand. I'm sorry, Mr… Scott. I wish I didn't have to call… We decided that since your father is such an important figure, that I should be the one to tell you."

"We?"

"The mayor… The governor… The president."

'_Typical_,' Scott thought. '_Trust the brass to pass the buck._'

"I'm sorry, Scott," Chief-Superintendent Gubb repeated. "If there's anything I can do…?"

"Could you…?" Scott sat forward. "My father was a very private man. Could you keep his name out of the media?"

The Chief-Superintendent shook his head. "I'm sorry, but that won't be possible. The world already knows about the accident. Members of the public have been seriously hurt and killed. We can't suppress your father's name… not once his next of kin have been notified. Are you able to contact your brothers within the next 24 hours?"

"Yes," Scott nodded, thinking that there was every chance that his brothers already knew. "Yes. I can contact my brothers within 24 hours."

"Good. This is my phone number," the Chief-Superintendent read out a list of digits. "If I can be of service to your family, please don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you, Chief-Superintendent. I'll remember that."

"Would you… would you like me to email the report on the accident when I receive it?"

"Yes, I'd appreciate that."

"Good day, Scott."

Scott hung up the phone, thinking there was nothing good about the day.

John's eyes in his portrait flashed. He took one look at Scott's expression and subdued manner and knew that, somehow, his older brother had been told the worst. "Have you had a, ah, 'funny' phone call, Scott?"

"I'm not laughing."

"No," John replied. "Neither are we."

"What happened? The Chief-Superintendent who rang told me a member of International Rescue found the registration number of the plane. Who found it?" Scott asked.

"I did," John admitted. "I showed Virgil."

"And are you all alright?"

John nodded. "We'll cope. We haven't told Gordon or Alan."

"Alan? You realise he's probably listening in now."

"No. I told him to contact Gordon and double check the co-ordinates where we're supposed to be drilling in case I got it wrong. Virgil and I have told Gordon that we had a 'bam moment'."

"And have you?"

John shook his head. "No. We're keeping it together. We can't back out now, there're people who need us."

Scott saw the wall behind John change its angle. "You're drilling now?"

"Yes. We hope to be there within ten minutes."

"When are you going to tell Gordon?"

"Before we leave. It's only fair that he be given the chance to… to… say goodbye."

Scott nodded. "I've got to tell Grandma and everyone else, and then Brains and I'll go and get Alan."

"I'm sorry you've got all this laid on you, Scott."

"I'll cope. You and Virgil concentrate on watching out for each other. We can't let International Rescue fail for the first time because of our own tragedy. Fa… He wouldn't want that."

"No," John agreed.

"Keep in touch with Alan," Scott instructed. "But don't let him know something's wrong. I don't want the kid to find out over the radio."

"Okay, Scott." John's picture reverted back to its normal photograph.

Scott took control of his emotions and stood…

…Just as his grandmother came bustling into the room. "Have you seen my knitting bag?" she asked, picking up some cushions to look underneath.

"No…" Scott crossed the floor. "Grandma," he took her by the shoulders. "Sit down," he guided her to the nearest sofa. "I have news…"

"News?" she looked into his face as she sat down. "It's bad news, isn't it?"

"Yes," he sat beside her.

"It's your brothers… One of them's been hurt? How bad? Who is it, Scott?"

"No. They're all fine. John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan are all okay."

"Then what?"

"You know where they've gone? Where John, Virgil, and Gordon have gone?"

Grandma looked at him in confusion. "They've gone to rescue people from under a mall in Kansas."

"And you know why they have to rescue these people?"

"Because a plane crashed. Scott! I don't understand. You say you've got bad news and then you say your brothers are fine. What's wrong?"

"The plane…" Scott swallowed. "The plane that crashed…"

"Yes? Speak up, Boy."

Scott looked into her face and remembered the day his mother had died. His grandmother had been distraught then. What would she be like upon hearing about her own son's death?

"Scott?" she pressed.

"The plane was Father's."

"You mean someone stole it and crashed it?"

"No," Scott shook his head. "The authorities think Father was the pilot."

Mrs Tracy went silent.

"Grandma? Are you all right?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "No. It can't be…"

"The authorities are pretty sure it was…"

"No…"

"John found the registration number in the wreckage."

"He… Your father… Jeff was on board?"

"They think so."

"He was on board when it crashed?"

"Yes."

"But how… Your father said his plane was safe... he promised me..." Tears started to flow down her elderly cheeks. "He said he trusted anything that Brains designed..."

Brains entered the room.

"…He trusted Brains..."

"Grandma," Scott said quietly.

"He said if Brains had made it, nothing could go wrong."

"Grandma," Scott repeated, aware that the engineer was listening with concern. "I have the utmost faith in everything Brains makes. We don't know what happened. It probably wasn't the plane's fault."

"Then you're blaming your father?"

"No, of course not," Scott protested. "I just think it's too soon to start pointing the finger at anyone or anything."

"W-What's happened, Scott," Brains asked. "What's wrong?"

Mrs Tracy started when heard his voice. Then she looked away from him.

"The..." Scott felt as if his throat were closing on him. He cleared it. "The accident the guys are at... the authorities have just told me they think it was caused by Father's jet."

"And M-Mr Tracy...?" Brains had gone white.

"Was last seen taking off in it."

Brains gripped the back of the couch for support.

"Brains," Scott laid a hand on his friend's arm. "I'm sorry, but I want to tell Alan face-to-face. Are you able to help me fly Thunderbird Three?"

"Th-Thunderbird Th-Three?"

Scott nodded.

"Ah… Y-Yes, Scott. I'll h-help."

"Thanks, Brains." Scott sighed. "I'd better go tell Tin-Tin and Kyrano. Once I've done that we'll go. Okay?"

Brains nodded.

* * *

"Something's not right, Alan." 

"What do you mean, Gordon?"

"I mean with John and Virgil. Don't tell Scott, but they both told me that they had had a 'bam moment' before we'd started the rescue."

Alan looked alarmed. "A 'bam moment'? Both of them? At the same time? Before they'd started? Is that possible?"

"I don't know," Gordon admitted. "That's what's so strange. So is John asking us to double-check the coordinates. He'd worked them out before he went 'bam'."

"So what do you think they are playing at?"

"I don't know, but I'll tell you one thing. Next time The Mole surfaces I'm going back down with it."

---F-A-B---

"Tin-Tin?" Scott entered the greenhouse and spied the young Eurasian working at the far end. "Where's your father?"

"I am here, Mister Scott," Kyrano said, as he stood from where he'd been weeding behind some beans.

Scott held his hand out to Tin-Tin. "Come here, Honey. I have something to tell you… Both of you."

"Scott?" Tin-Tin moved closer. As he was still offering his hand, she took it. "Scott? What's wrong?"

"It's bad news I'm afraid."

"Mister Scott? Your brothers…"

"No, not my brothers. My father…"

"Mr Tracy?" Kyrano looked at the younger man in concern.

Scott tried to be gentle. "It was his plane that crashed."

It took a moment for the news to sink in. Then, with an, "Oh, Scott," Tin-Tin pulled him into a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry," she whispered into his shoulder.

Scott found that he needed her embrace. He accepted it, and clung to her as her father bowed his head in prayer.

When they eventually parted, Scott took a step back. "I'm going to get Alan…"

"Do you want me to come with you?" Tin-Tin asked.

Scott shook his head. "Thanks, Honey, but Brains has offered to do it. If you both wouldn't mind doing something for me though…"

Kyrano bowed. "It would be our pleasure, Mister Scott."

"Keep an eye on Grandma for me?"

"Of course, Scott."

---F-A-B---

The Mole cleared the wall of the underground parking area and ground to a halt. John turned to Virgil. "Are you okay?"

"I'm going to have to be. Are you?"

John straightened his shoulders. "Yes."

Virgil stood. "Then let's do it!" He opened the door…

Deep underground, the parking area was in darkness. Virgil switched on the lights that ran along the length of The Mole and the room was bathed in a harsh glow. Together the brothers stepped out into a world of fear and pain. They had to deal with debris had fallen on parked cars… and victims. They had to face a child who was crying because he'd lost his parents… and another who would never cry again. A man with severe head injuries, whose leg had been trapped under a concrete pillar, died as they worked to free him.

And John and Virgil tried to forget that the man who'd directly, or indirectly, caused this misery was their father. They buried that part of their lives down deep in their consciousness...

Gordon fretted and made Virgil take him back down with him when the first wave of released victims were brought to the surface. He kept on asking over and over again if his brothers were all right… If they needed a break… If they wanted his help…

They kept on working…

* * *

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. Requesting permission to dock," Scott asked. 

"Thunderbird Three; you are clear to dock."

Scott frowned at the microphone. Something wasn't right. There had been no questions. Alan hadn't asked why his brother had made an unexpected trip in International Rescue's rocket during a rescue. "Do you think he knows?"

"I-I don't know, Scott."

Scott glanced at the little scientist. He'd been very quiet throughout the trip and had been unable to meet Scott's eyes. Scott had a feeling that his grandmother's words had struck a raw nerve. "It's not your fault, Brains."

Brains looked up towards, but not at, Scott. "W-We don't kn-know that… y-yet."

"Don't forget we helped to build it. We may have done something wrong."

"F-From my plans. I-I checked everything d-during assembly."

"I don't blame you, Brains. I can't blame anyone until I know what happened."

"W-We are here, Scott."

Thunderbird Three's nosecone slid into Thunderbird Five's docking station and Scott watched as a strip of green lights winked on. "We've docked." He hesitated. "I should do this alone."

"I-I will wait here."

For some reason Scott was dreading telling Alan more than anything. His brother had been too young to remember his mother's death and Scott had no way to tell how the younger man would react. Steeling himself, Scott stepped out of Thunderbird Three and into the space station. He entered Thunderbird Five's control room and stopped.

Alan was standing there, a pile of suitcases at his feet.

"Alan?"

"I know, Scott. The air accident investigator was telling the Chief-Superintendent."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out over the radio. That's why I came."

"Thanks." Alan pressed a button and then picked up some of the cases. "I've switched her over to automatic... Are we going?"

Scott picked up the remainder of his brother's bags. "Are you okay?"

Alan side-stepped the question. "Does Gordon know?"

"No. John and Virgil said they didn't know if they could cope, so they wanted him with a clear head."

"They seem to be coping so far." Alan led the way into Thunderbird Three. "Did you come alone?"

"No, Brains was…" Scott entered Thunderbird Three's flight deck and stopped. "Where is he?" He dropped Alan's bags. "He must be going to travel in the passenger bay. He's blaming himself."

"Why? It was an accident… Wasn't it?" Alan began to stow his bags in the locker. "Do you blame him?"

"No. I'm not blaming anyone until we find out what happened."

Alan shut the locker door and turned to face his brother. "How is everyone at home?"

"In shock."

"How are you?"

Scott shrugged. "Let's go home."

* * *

The last of the casualties had been loaded into the waiting ambulances and Virgil and John loaded The Mole back into pod five. Gordon, in the Firefly, followed them up the ramp and braked, blocking The Mole's exit. He jumped down and walked over to his brothers. "How are you guys?" 

"I don't know how to say this, Alan…" John began.

Gordon stared at him. "I'm Gordon."

"Sorry…"

"Right, that's it!" Gordon asserted. "You're both acting like a pair of zombies! I'm taking Thunderbird One, picking up Scott, bringing him back and we're flying the Thunderbirds home. You guys are clearly in no shape to do so." He turned for the exit.

"Gordon! Wait!" Virgil called after him. "There's something we have to tell you."

Gordon turned back. "What?"

Virgil looked at John. John looked ill.

"Gordon," Virgil began. "You know what happened out there?"

"Yeah. Some idiot flew his plane into a shopping mall."

Virgil grimaced as if he'd been hit and John turned away.

"What?" Gordon asked again.

"John found a piece of the plane," Virgil said.

"So?"

"It had the registration number on it."

Gordon listened, wondering what his brother was struggling to say.

"It is… It was… Father's plane," Virgil ground out.

Gordon stared at him. Then he looked at John. "This isn't funny."

"We're not joking," Virgil told him.

"That plane was Dad's?"

"Yes."

"That pile of scorched metal?"

Virgil nodded.

"How long have you known?" Realisation dawned. "You never had a 'bam moment', did you? Either of you? You knew all along and you didn't tell me! Why? Didn't you trust me to keep it together? I thought we were supposed to trust each other, but instead you treated me like a little kid. You didn't think I was mature enough to handle this, so you left me in the dark. You treated me like you do Alan! That's right, isn't it? You let me work, knowing… Knowing that our father is out there in that tangled mess."

"Gordon…" Virgil began.

"You're lying." Gordon stepped away from his brothers, shaking his head. "I don't believe you. I don't know why you're lying, but you're lying to me. My father is not out there. Dad is not dead. He can't be… There's been a mistake."

"Gordon," Virgil took a step towards his distraught brother, hoping to comfort him, but Gordon took another step backwards.

"Don't come near me," he hissed.

"Please," Virgil begged. "Don't…"

"No!" Gordon took another step backwards. "You're wrong. And I'm going to prove it!" He turned and ran out of the pod, gravity assisting him down the ramp. He barrelled up to the black mark that scarred the surface of the earth and stopped. No one could have survived this crash.

One of the regular rescue workers came up to him. "Hello? I thought you folks had finished and were heading home?"

"Final checks." Gordon tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Well, thanks for all you've done. International Rescue have saved a lot of lives today."

"That's our job," Gordon said.

"That registration number that your colleague found has helped confirm who the pilot was," the rescue worker said conversationally. "Now it's down to the crash investigators to work out why he crashed."

"Who was he?"

The worker hesitated. "I shouldn't really tell you, but I guess it doesn't matter. It's not as though International Rescue is going to go running to the media with this bit of information… You've heard of Jeff Tracy, the billionaire?"

Gordon kept it together. "Yes."

"It was him. Brand new experimental plane, from what I understand. The investigators are going to have their work cut out for them."

"Yes, they are," Gordon agreed.

"Shame. From what I understand he was a heck of a nice guy. Unlike many with money."

Gordon held out his hand. "Thank you," he said.

Bemused the rescue worker shook hands. "Ah… Surely I should be thanking you?"

Gordon pretended to smile. "I'd better be getting back. So long."

"Bye…" the rescue raised his hand in a wave, but Gordon was striding back to Thunderbird Two.

"Gordon…" Virgil said as his brother stalked through the pod, but Gordon ignored him, entering the lift to the flight deck and punching the button that would take him upwards.

"He's not taking it well," Virgil sighed, and turned to John. "Are you okay to fly Thunderbird One home?"

John nodded.

"Sure?"

John nodded again. "You?" he croaked.

"I'll make it," Virgil confirmed. "See you there."

John nodded, turned, and walked out of the pod.

Virgil took the lift upwards and stepped onto the flight deck. Gordon had strapped himself into the seat farthest from the pilot's. "Okay, Gordon?" Virgil asked.

His brother folded his arms and turned his head so he was looking out the window.

"Scott and Brains have taken Thunderbird Three to get Alan," Virgil told him.

Gordon didn't comment.

"They might get home the same time that we do."

No response.

Virgil decided that it would be best to leave him alone. He slid into his own seat and began the procedure that locked down the pod and lowered Thunderbird Two over it. Looking out the window he saw John climb into Thunderbird One, having returned Mobile Control to its hold.

A short time later the radio crackled into life. "Preparing to lift off," John said.

"F-A-B," Virgil replied. "We'll stick together, huh?"

"Yes. Out."

Virgil watched Thunderbird One's VTOL jets burst into life before he triggered his own. Both planes lifted from the ground.

* * *

It had been a quiet flight back from Thunderbird Five. Neither Alan nor Scott said any more than was necessary. They landed through the round house, and then took the lift down to the passenger hold. Brains was already seated on the couch. 

"Brains," Alan greeted him.

"Alan," Brains replied, looking at the floor.

The two Tracy boys took their seats beside him and all three felt the couch drop away down through the centre of Thunderbird Three, before it began its homeward track back to the lounge.

---F-A-B---

John rotated Thunderbird One in midair and slotted her through the swimming pool. As she rode back up on her trolley into her hangar, John took the opportunity to undo his safety harness and climb out of the pilot's seat.

He was standing by the exit hatch when a soft bump told him that Thunderbird One had completed her automated journey. There was a moment's delay, as the moving gantry slid into position, before the hatch opened and John was able to step outside the craft. The gantry began pulling him closer to the lounge.

---F-A-B---

Virgil spun Thunderbird Two 180 degrees, landed, and taxied backwards into the giant craft's hangar. "We're here," he told his passenger, and turned.

Gordon was already in the passenger lift and was heading up to the lounge.

Virgil sighed, set the diagnostics programme working on his craft, and then made his way back to the heart of the family home.

And so it happened that all five Tracy boys and Brains arrived in the lounge at the same time. When they saw each other they froze, eyeing the others up as though they'd been confronted by complete strangers for the first time.

No one said anything.

Gordon was the first to move. He turned on his heel and walked out, down in the direction of his room.

Head down, Brains exited through the same door.

A moment later, silently, John followed.

Virgil looked after them, glanced at his father's desk, swallowed and headed off to his bedroom.

Scott uttered some unintelligible sound, and strode out of the room.

Alan was left. Alone in the place where he'd expected the most comfort.

A light footstep announced the approach of someone and Tin-Tin entered. "Alan!" she cried and ran into his arms.

Alan held her close as they comforted each other. After a full five minutes he asked, "How's Grandma?"

Tin-Tin gave a sniff and pulled away slightly. "She's cooking. Making dinner."

"I don't know that anyone will feel like eating."

"Leave her, Alan. She needs to keep busy."

He nodded. "How's your father?"

"Keeping busy. He's in the greenhouse."

Alan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And how are you?"

Tin-Tin tried to smile at him, but instead burst into tears.

"Come here, Honey." Alan pulled her close again.

There was a sound in the hallway and Gordon strode into the room, dressed in his swimming gear, with a towel draped around his shoulders.

"Dinner will be ready soon," Alan told him.

"Not hungry," his brother replied.

"You don't have to eat. We should all be together at this time. Just sit at the table to help support everyone else."

"Support?" Gordon snorted. "Some people won't want our support."

"Gordon?" Alan queried.

"Later, Alan." Gordon deserted the lounge for the comfort of the pool.

* * *

Alan was relieved that Gordon did join the rest of the family at the meal table. Not that it was much of a meal. All of Grandma's culinary skills appeared to have deserted her. The potatoes were burnt, the peas like marbles, the carrots were soggy and the meat raw. Not that it mattered, as Alan had predicted no one had felt like eating. No one except Virgil who, without complaint, cut the burnt pieces off the potatoes and ate the remainder, before helping himself to seconds. 

Scott dropped his unused fork onto his untouched plate and stood. "I'm going to do some work."

"Work?" Alan looked at his eldest brother. "What work?"

"I've got things to do, okay!" Scott snapped.

The dining room was silent when he'd left.

Alan watched as John pushed a pea around the edge of his plate. Then he switched his attention to his grandmother who was twisting the tablecloth around her fingers and staring into space.

"E-Excuse me." Brains scrapped his chair along the floor as he stood. "I-I'll be in the l-la-l-labor-r-r." He gave up trying to formulate the sentence and left the room.

Tin-Tin sniffed and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I must do the dishes." Kyrano picked up his own plate, placed it back on the table, picked up Scott's clean one, placed it on his dirty plate, picked them up, before placing them back on the table and sitting down with an audible sigh.

"Let us help you, Kyrano," Virgil said, and began to clear the plates and cutlery. John, without a word, began stacking the dishes in the dishwasher.

Alan stared at the empty seat at the end of the table, swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat, and then grabbed some dishes of his own. "Go and sit in the lounge, Grandma," he suggested. "We'll take care of this."

"Hmm?" She looked at him blankly. "What, Dear?

"Go put your feet up. We'll take care of the dishes."

"Yes," she agreed. "I might do that." She remained seated.

"Come on, Mrs Tracy," Tin-Tin took the elderly lady's arm. "We're in the way here."

Seemingly in a daze, Grandma allowed herself to be taken out the room.

Virgil grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl and held it in his teeth as he grabbed more plates from the table.

"Are you still hungry?" Alan asked him.

"Hem hm hm," Virgil replied through the apple, nodding to make himself understood.

They finished loading the dishwasher and then each departed for the sanctuary of their own room.

_To be continued…_


	3. The Will

**03 Three: The Will**

Alan awoke early the following morning, somewhat disoriented at finding himself at home when he was still expecting to be on Thunderbird Five. Then he remembered the reason for his early departure. Feeling sick, he got out of bed and wandered through to his bathroom where he splashed water onto his face. Deciding that he'd rather be doing something active to take his mind off things instead of stewing in his room, he dressed in his tracksuit in preparation for a run.

He walked out of his bedroom and nearly bumped into Gordon, who, judging by his lack of clothing, was planning to indulge in his own form of exercise.

"Morning, Gordon."

"Morning, Alan."

Gordon looked at his brother. "I guess asking if yesterday was a bad dream would be a waste of time?"

"If it was a dream I'd be up in Thunderbird Five."

"I'm going for a swim," Gordon said unnecessarily.

"I thought I'd go for a run."

In silence, the two brothers walked through to the lounge where they found Scott sitting at their father's desk. "What are you doing?" Alan asked.

"Minding my own business, that's what."

Gordon examined his brother and came to the conclusion that he was wearing what he'd worn the day before. "Have you been to bed?"

Scott wasn't in the mood to be questioned. "Are you going for a swim?!"

Gordon looked down at his own attire. "Gee. I'm wearing my swimming gear; I'm carrying a towel... I guess I must be."

Scott ignored the sarcasm. "Then go and do it and leave me alone."

"Fine," Gordon muttered. "Suit yourself." He went out into the grey dawn to submerge himself in the cool waters of the family pool.

Alan had got as far as the patio when the sound of a male voice caused him to stop. Someone was singing. Trying to find the source of the sound he realised that the only two people he could see were Gordon, now eating up the miles in the pool, and Scott, hunched over the desk.

The eldest brother had settled down again, planning to do more work in the early morning peace of the family home before anyone else awoke. He was not pleased to be disturbed by another member of his family.

His grandmother looked a mess. Her hair, rather than pinned back in its usual neat bun, was in disarray. Her dress hadn't been ironed and she'd put the wrong buttons through each buttonhole. "I'm going to make a start on breakfast. What does everyone feel like?" she asked her audience of one.

Scott only just managed to stop himself from telling her that he felt like being left alone. Instead he managed a mumbled, "I'm not hungry."

Normally that comment would have had her fussing about him, checking for fever or another sign of ailment, but this morning she didn't appear to hear him. "Where is everyone?"

"Gordon's having a swim. Alan's gone for a run. Everyone else is still in bed."

Almost immediately, Virgil proved him wrong as he entered the room carrying a bag of peanuts. "Anyone mind if I play the piano?"

"I mind!" Scott snapped.

Virgil ignored him and sat at the baby grand in preparation to play.

Grandma looked at the snack in Virgil's hand, but, instead of telling him off for spoiling his breakfast, merely asked. "What do you want to eat this morning?"

"Anything, Grandma," Virgil replied. He began flicking through his sheet music.

By now Alan was more curious about the identity of the mystery singer than he was interested in his run. He had concluded that the voice was coming from the roof of the villa and he ventured back inside intending to head to the highest point of the house.

"What do you want for breakfast, Honey?" his grandmother asked him as melancholy music wafted from the piano.

"Don't worry about me," he replied. "I'll get something when I get back from my run. I just want to check something out first."

"Fine, Dear. Don't be too long."

Alan was about to leave the room when the videophone rang. Scott answered it.

"Good morning, Mr Tracy," an obscenely cheerful voice said. "I'm from the International Chronicle. I was looking for your family's reaction to your father's death."

Scott stared at the videophone screen in disbelief. "You were what?"

"Wanting a reaction..."

Scott looked at his watch. "But the 24 hours isn't up yet."

"Don't worry," he was told. "Nothing will be published until after the deadline. But I am sure that you understand that when we do go public we would like to be able to present a full and correct account."

"My father has just been killed and you want me to tell you my reaction??"

"If you wouldn't mind, Sir. After all, it's not only your family that has been affected. There are all those people who were killed and those who were hurt when your father crashed his plane..."

"You make it sound as though what happened was my father's fault..."

The man on the other end of the phone laughed. 'Well, it was his plane... I didn't hear any reports of the mall levitating off the ground... Now, do you have any comment?"

"No," Scott growled.

"How is your family coping, knowing that your father was responsible for so many deaths?"

"No comment."

"You do realise that 33 people were killed?"

Scott hadn't known this, but his manner didn't change. "No comment."

"And that a further 20 are listed as being in a critical condition?"

"No comment."

"And that numerous others were injured?"

"I have nothing to say to you, or any other representative from the media." Scott said. "My father was a private man in life, and we intend to keep his death as private as we humanly can."

"Even though your father's death caused the death of so many members of the public?"

"I said I have no comment!" Scott was snarling. "And neither does anyone else in the family. I will wish you good day..."

"How did you feel when you heard that your father's plane had crashed...?"

"Goodbye..."

"...And had killed so many?"

Scott hung up the phone and banged his fist on the desk. "I don't believe it! The nerve of that guy!"

Gordon had come back inside for another towel and had heard the tail end of the conversation. "Who was that!?"

"Some reporter," Scott growled.

"He made it sound as if Dad was responsible!"

"You'd think he'd at least wait until we know what caused the crash before accusing anyone," Virgil commented, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

"Typical," Gordon snapped. "You would side with him."

"I'm not siding with him," Virgil protested. "It was a comment that's all."

Alan put his arm around the elderly lady who'd been listening to the conversation. "Are you okay, Grandma?"

"That man," she sniffed. "He accused your father of murder."

"He's just fishing for a scoop. We know Dad wouldn't be party to anything like that," Alan said.

"What beats me is that the Chief-Super assured me that the media wouldn't hear anything until the 24 hour deadline was up," Scott growled. "How'd that guy get the news?"

"You know the press," Gordon said. "Some of those guys would do anything for a story. He probably bribed one of the rescue workers. Unfortunately some people don't know when it's time to keep their mouths shut…" He glared at Virgil. "While others don't know when they should be speaking out."

---F-A-B---

The lift doors opened and Alan stepped out onto the roof of the Tracy villa. One of the pool's deckchairs had been dragged up here, along with a telescope. John was watching the stars that he loved fade in the morning light; just as the father he loved had done.

"John…" Alan said to his brother's back. "Why are you up here?"

"_The heavens are now home to you…_" John sang.

"Have you been here all night?"

"…_Up where the stars are shining through…_"

"John?" Alan had taken a step forward before he realised why his brother hadn't heard him.

John had a love for music that was nearly as great as Virgil's, but the only instrument he'd developed a talent for was his own voice. He'd done some training, but had never felt comfortable performing in front of an audience and had given away the stage side of the craft, preferring to concentrate on learning enough to keep his singing voice in trim. It had never been confirmed, but Alan had a sneaking suspicion that one of the many reasons why John enjoyed his time on Thunderbird Five, was because it gave him the opportunity to give his talent full rein without anybody hearing him.

"…_That star up there …_"

When he was on Earth John preferred listening to music, and to aid the experience he had developed high-quality headphones that could be set to block out certain, or all, extraneous external sounds. He was wearing these headphones now and listening to his own private soundtrack on the world.

"…_I know you're near…_"

Alan could understand John's attraction to the song. He walked across the roof until he was standing beside his brother.

John had his eyes closed. "_…but from me you are too far..._"

Alan touched him on the shoulder and John visibly jumped. "Don't do that!" He pulled his headphones off. "Whaddya want?!"

"Grandma's making breakfast. She's asking what everyone wants."

"I'll get something later." John settled back into his seat.

"Scott's just taken a phone call from some newspaper. The reporter was asking for his reaction to Dad's death. He was insinuating that the whole thing was Dad's fault and that he'd, for some reason, killed those people on purpose."

"What!?"

"It's upset Grandma. You'd make her happier if you'd join us."

John hesitated, a scowl on his face. Then he replaced his headphones over his ears, clipped the music player to his belt, put a protective cover over the telescope and, without acknowledging Alan, stalked over to the lift.

The two brothers rode downwards in silence.

John continued to wear his headphones as he sat at the breakfast table, a social no-no which Jeff Tracy would normally have stopped immediately and without argument. Alan was pretty sure that Scott would have taken the same line if he'd deigned to join them. No one else appeared to notice or care.

* * *

After an unappetising meal, which Virgil wolfed down, Alan felt lost. He decided to check on Brains. 

He found the engineer, as expected, in his laboratory pouring over plans. "M8 HT machine screw… Th-That's correct," Brains was muttering.

"How are you this morning, Brains?" Alan asked.

Brains glanced up for the briefest of moments before he focused back on the computer screen in front of him. "I-I'm o-okay."

"Any ideas what happened?" Alan saw Brains stiffen. "It's okay, I was speaking in general terms. I don't think the crash was your fault."

"I-It would be unlikely t-to be your father's."

"We don't know that yet. And as much as I would hate to think that Dad was responsible, I can't believe that there was a fault in your workmanship. You're always so careful."

"Th-Thank y-you for your f-faith in me, A-Alan," Brains stuttered. "B-But not everyone sh-shares your beliefs."

"You mean Grandma? She'll get over it once the air accident investigators have finished."

"Mrs T-Tracy is n-not alone in her opinion."

"Who else does?" Alan frowned. "I'm pretty sure my brothers don't…"

Brains shook his head.

"Tin-Tin?" Alan sounded incredulous. "Kyrano? There's no way either of them would blame you."

"P-Please, Alan. I w-would like to return to m-my work."

Alan stood for a moment, uncertain. "Can I help?"

Brains shook his head, looking away. "N-No. I-I would prefer to do this on m-my own."

Bemused, Alan left the lab and sought out Tin-Tin in her room. "Can I have a word, Honey?"

She tried to smile at him, nodded and burst into tears.

"Tin-Tin… Please don't," Alan pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Alan… But your father…"

"I know," Alan pulled her into a hug. "I miss him too."

Tin-Tin sniffed, reached over her bed and pulled two tissues from a box. "What did you want to talk about?"

He hesitated; unsure if now was the best time to ask.

"Alan?" Tin-Tin looked at him with big rheumy eyes.

"I've just been talking to Brains," Alan explained. "He's upset… Like everyone I guess… But he's also upset because he thinks we blame him for the crash. I've told him that I don't, and he accepts that the guys don't… We know Grandma does, but that's because she refuses to believe that her little boy could do any wrong…"

Tin-Tin burst into tears again and Alan realised that his wording hadn't been exactly tactful. He waited until her sobs settled down before continuing on. "Do you…" he paused, wanting to be more diplomatic this time. "You've worked as closely with him as the rest of us. Do you blame Brains?"

"Oh, no!" Tin-Tin shook her head emphatically. "Brains is so methodical in his work, there's no way that anything he'd done could have had a direct impact on what happened."

"Good," Alan managed a smile. "Um… What about your father?"

"Father?"

"Yes."

"No," Tin-Tin shook her head again, just as emphatic as she had been before. "No, I'm sure he doesn't. We talked about what happened last night. Father is of the opinion that it was just fate."

"That's a relief," Alan said. "But then…" he screwed up his face in thought. "The way Brains was talking it was as if he believed there was someone else who blamed him."

"Perhaps," Tin-Tin's voice was quiet, "Brains blames himself?"

"Brains? But he's always so sure of his work."

"Maybe that's the problem. He's always been so confident. Maybe he thinks he was overconfident this time…?"

* * *

Alan left Tin-Tin's room and wandered down the hallway. He stopped outside of John's bedroom and waited a moment before knocking. There was no answer. Pressing his ear against a certain part of the door he listened. It was a trick that he and Gordon had discovered soon after everyone had moved to the island and it had come in handy when they'd wanted to spy on their brothers. This time he could hear music playing, but no sounds of movement. He knocked again. "John!" 

"He's probably catching up on his sleep. Didn't look like he got much last night."

Alan turned and realised that another brother had walked past. "Virgil! Wait up!" He jogged up to him. "I'm glad I've found you alone. Would you mind if I asked you something?"

Virgil shrugged. "Sure, Alan. What?"

"Um... It's about yesterday." Alan saw his brother tense up. "I'd understand if you don't want to talk about it, but I want to know what happened. All I've heard is what was said over the radio." He waited to see Virgil's reaction.

Virgil seemed to think for a moment and then nodded slowly. "Okay. I guess it is only fair."

"Thanks," Alan said with gratitude. "Ah, do you want to talk in my room? It's more private."

Virgil nodded. "Okay. Just give me a moment to get something."

Alan returned to his room; a shrine to his motor racing days. He tried not to look at the photo of his father proudly standing beside him as between them they held one of his many car-racing trophies. His father had always supported him.

Virgil knocked on the door and entered. He was carrying some apples.

Alan swallowed down the lump that was forming in his throat. "It does get easier, doesn't it?"

There was a moment's silence as Virgil contemplated the question. Then he nodded. "Eventually." He held out an apple. "Would you like one?"

"No, thanks." Alan sat on the edge of his bed.

Virgil claimed a seat beside him and bit into an apple. "So… What do you want to know?"

"What happened? What was it like? How did everyone behave? Why's Gordon mad with you guys?"

There was a moment's silence as Virgil took a bite out of an apple and chewed it slowly as he thought. "Remember that train crash in India last year?"

"Where the train jumped the rails and ploughed into the apartment block?"

Virgil nodded, his mouth full of apple. He swallowed. "Combine that with the fire from that gas explosion in Mexico and you'll get some idea of what the scene was like. There was this great long burnt trail where the plane had skidded along the ground. The mall had collapsed like a deck of cards. There were people everywhere, some hurt, some trying to save others, most in shock... I think John got video for the authorities. If you really wanted to you could look at that." He took another bite of his apple.

Alan waited as Virgil finished off the first apple before reaching for the second. "So it was rough," he eventually said.

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "It was rough."

"When did you realise that the plane… was..."

Virgil was halfway through the second apple and stopped eating. "John found the registration number from the panel under the pilot's window. He got me to double-check it. I don't think he believed his own eyes." Virgil sounded reflective as he chewed slowly and cast his mind back a day. "It was amazing! I don't think there was a panel unscathed, except for this one. And John, of all people, had to be the one to find it."

"Rough," Alan said, casting his mind about for something more meaningful to say.

Virgil nodded in agreement.

"Then what happened?" Alan prompted.

"Gordon came running over to see why we were taking so long. He said that you'd said that Scott was having a blue fit."

"True," Alan agreed. "He was." He waited, but Virgil seemed more interested in finishing his apple than saying anything more. "So you didn't tell Gordon then?"

"No."

"Why?"

Virgil finished off his apple, thinking as he did so. "You don't remember when Ma died, do you, Alan?"

Alan responded with a mute shake of his head.

"So you don't remember how hard the days were afterwards?"

"No."

"We do. Maybe John more than me." Virgil stopped talking as he struggled with the memories.

Alan laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, the gesture more eloquent than any words he could have said. He gave his brother a moment to gather himself together before he spoke. "But we were all children then."

Virgil gave Alan a pained look. "Believe me, Alan. It doesn't matter how old you are, it still hurts just as much when you're an adult as it did when you were a child." He looked down at his apple core. "We had a rescue to get through. One of us had to keep a clear head."

"So you didn't tell Gordon so that he could be the one with the clear head?"

"Yes. But… somehow… John and I managed to cope... Don't ask me how, but we did."

"When did you tell Gordon?"

"Before we left. He deserved the chance to... to..." Virgil's voice broke and he took a deep breath. Alan squeezed his shoulder and the gesture seemed to give Virgil the strength to carry on. "Gordon deserved a chance to say goodbye."

"He wasn't happy that you kept him in the dark?" Alan guessed. "Is that why he's been sniping at you two?"

"Seems like it," Virgil nodded. "He never gave us the chance to explain. He called us liars and ran out of the pod so quickly that he nearly fell down the ramp. He hasn't spoken to us since. Well, me anyway. John's kept pretty much to himself."

"I'd noticed. Do you want me to talk to Gordon?" Alan offered.

"Leave him," Virgil advised. "He'll get over it. I'd rather he were mad at us rather than..."

Alan waited to see who or what else Gordon could be mad with, but Virgil didn't appear to be inclined to carry on with his narrative. He picked up the last apple and began eating.

"Do you know what I think we're missing?" Alan eventually asked after the silence had dragged on for over a minute. "I mean in the house? As a memorial to Dad, so we'll remember him? Not that we'll forget…"

Virgil looked at him. "What?"

"We haven't got a decent portrait of him." Alan prodded Virgil on the knee. "You could do one."

Virgil shook his head. "No I couldn't."

"Yes, you could. You know him. You would… capture the essence of him that no other painter would be able to."

Virgil said nothing as he finished off the apple. "I'm better when I can see the subject," he eventually acknowledged. "I could never do him justice."

* * *

"Hi, Scott." 

"Alan."

Alan hesitated. The greeting had been more of a curt acknowledgement, than a real salutation. "What are you doing?"

"Working."

"Working on what?"

"Working on minding my own business, Alan. Now you mind yours!"

"If you're doing something to do with Dad, don't you think it is my business too?"

"I'm trying to get a handle on International Rescue's supplies. And I don't need you bothering me," Scott snapped. "Now leave me alone!"

"Can I get you something to eat?" Alan offered. "You didn't have breakfast... Or anything last night."

"I'm not hungry, Alan. What I am, is sick of being interrupted."

"Sorry." Alan stood and watched his older brother for a moment. "Are you worried about John?" he eventually asked.

Scott had his nose buried in some paperwork again. "No."

"You must have noticed that he practically hasn't said a word since they got back from..." Alan hesitated. "Since yesterday."

"You should know by now that John's a quiet guy."

"Yes, but he usually says something, if only 'good morning'. He hasn't said anything since I found him on the roof this morning!"

"Maybe he just knows when to leave people alone."

"And what about Virgil? He hasn't stopped eating."

"So...? He's probably hungry."

"And Gordon won't get out of the pool..."

"What's new?"

"But…"

"Alan!" Scott laid down his pen and glared at his brother. "What the others do is their business. They'll get over it. Now leave me alone before I throw you over the balcony!"

Alan decided to save him the bother and walked down the steps and over to the pool. He removed his shoes, rolled up his trouser legs and sat so his feet were dangling in the water. "Hi, Gordon," he said when the swimmer came within talking range.

"Hi," Gordon grunted and turned for anther lap.

Alan waited until it was completed. "Apart from the obvious..." he began, and had to wait until Gordon had finished another lap before he could complete his sentence. "...What's your problem?"

"Problem?" Gordon asked as he turned.

Alan waited until the swimmer had returned. "With John and Virgil."

"Not my problem..." Gordon began, not missing a stroke. "Their's," he said when he returned.

"Okay," Alan tried to sound agreeable. "What's their problem?"

Gordon stopped swimming and clung to the side of the pool. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Would you believe that I suddenly and brutally found out what it's been like to be you all these years?"

"Huh?" Alan scratched his head. "What do you mean; to be 'like me'?"

"To be treated like a little kid, not as an adult."

"What do you mean?" Alan asked again.

Gordon's reply was simple. "They didn't trust me. They didn't think I was grown up enough to be able to handle the situation maturely."

"They being John and Virgil?"

"Yep. And to a lesser extent Scott." Gordon pushed himself backwards off the wall and did two complete laps in backstroke before he stopped again, splashing Alan's trousers in the process.

Alan asked the same question that he'd asked earlier. "What happened?"

"They told me they'd had a 'bam moment'." Gordon gave a bitter laugh. "And I was gullible enough to believe them. I should have realised. They're rare enough as it is. What's the odds of the two of us having a 'bam moment' at the same time?"

"I would hope not very high."

"And I fell for it," Gordon still sounded bitter as he launched himself into the breaststroke. Alan had to wait until he'd completed three full laps of the pool before he stopped again.

"You know why they did that?" Gordon asked. "They didn't think that I could cope."

"No, Alan said. "I think it was more of a case that they weren't sure that they could."

"Did they spin you that line?" Gordon asked.

"Virgil did. John hasn't said anything."

Gordon dunked his head under the pool.

Alan splashed the water with his feet.

"How did you find out?" Gordon suddenly asked. "Who told you it was Dad's plane?"

"I heard a couple of officials talking over the radio," Alan admitted.

"See! Even Scott didn't trust you to be grown-up enough to take it like a man!" Gordon pointed an accusatory finger towards the lounge. "Even he didn't want to tell you!"

"It wasn't like that," Alan tried not to sound as though he were on the defensive. "Scott didn't want me to find out over the radio. He wanted to tell me face-to-face, man-to-man. It just happened that I overheard…"

Gordon snorted.

"How did John and Virgil tell you?"

"John didn't say anything; he just hid away from me."

Alan decided to refrain from saying that John hadn't said much and had hidden away from everybody since the rescue. "So did Virgil tell you?"

"Yeah. Just before we were about to leave."

"See..."

"Do you know what I'd been thinking Alan?"

"No…"

"All through the rescue I was looking at all these burnt and battered and traumatised bodies and thinking 'What was wrong with the pilot? Had he been ill? Had he known that he hadn't been fit enough to fly? Had something gone wrong with the plane? Hadn't it been maintained properly? Was the pilot under the influence of alcohol or drugs? Or was he just some idiot who had no right to be up in the air... Who should never have been given his licence… All through the rescue I was, in my mind, berating this unknown pilot..." Gordon's voice rose in pitch. "And this man I was berating for causing all that misery was my own father... And those two knew and let me think that!"

"They didn't know what you were thinking?" Alan tried to say.

"If you're going to side with them, Alan..."

"I'm not siding with anyone..."

"Then you can just crawl back inside."

"Gordon..."

"I'm done talking." Gordon took a deep breath and sunk beneath the water. He swam down deep to the far end of the pool and stayed there.

Alan waited a moment. When it became obvious that his brother wasn't going to surface until he was alone, Alan decided that he didn't want his brother's drowning on his conscience, and climbed the steps back into the lounge.

Scott was on the phone, the video signal disengaged. "No! We are not interested in making a comment. Goodbye!" He slammed his hand down on the disconnect button.

The phone rang again. Scott answered it.

"Good afternoon," the caller said. "I'm from the 'Universal Mirror'."

Scott hung up.

Alan looked at his watch. The 24-hour amnesty was over.

The phone rang again.

Scott answered. "Tracy Island."

"Wallace Plaidy, World Sun Newsp..."

Scott cancelled the call.

He'd no sooner done this when another sound interrupted their peace. This time it wasn't the ringing of a phone, it was the motor and whirring blades of a hover-plane.

Gordon came running inside. "Hey! There's a NTBS chopper out here!"

"A what?" Most rest of the family had entered the lounge to find out what the unexpected noise was.

"What!?" Scott roared. "Can't they leave us alone?" He ran outside onto the patio and shook his fist at the plane, which was turning in preparation for another filming run on the villa.

"Scott! Stop!" Alan exclaimed. He ran after his brother, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him back inside.

Scott yanked himself free. "Alan! What are you doing?"

"Trying to stop you from exposing us all."

"What?!"

"International Rescue!" Alan reminded him. "We spend all our lives trying to keep out of the media and then you go and stick your face in front of a television camera!"

Scott glared at his youngest brother, and then, without a word, returned to their father's desk.

The phone rang.

Scott answered it. "What?!"

"Scott…? Is that you?"

Scott turned on the phone's video. "Mr Brett? I'm sorry."

Angus Brett had been their parents' solicitor. Alan's earliest memory was of his brothers and himself huddling together in a corner of Mr Brett's office as his mother's will was read out. In general, whenever he'd mentioned this, his family had scoffed, saying he was too young to remember anything of the sort. But still Alan insisted that he remembered the grey, dull walls, the lifeless pot plants, and the unimaginative paintings. Of Mr Brett himself, he'd had no recollection.

When, a few years later, he'd been dragged along to the solicitor's office for some reason, he'd been hit by a strong feeling of déjà vu, but yet again Mr Brett had made next to no impression on him.

"I-Is everything all right?" Mr Brett was asking, somewhat unnerved by Scott's abrupt, and obviously angry, greeting.

"We've been disturbed by the media all day," Scott explained.

"Ah… I understand."

"What can I do for you, Mr Brett?" Scott was being extra polite as he tried to make amends for the way he'd answered the phone.

"I've rung for several reasons," Mr Brett said. "Firstly it's to offer my sincerest sympathies to you all. I've just learned of your tragic loss on the radio."

"Thank you," Scott replied.

"Secondly, I was wondering when would be a good time... And I know that never is a good time..."

"Yes?" Scott prompted.

"To read your father's will?"

Those in the lounge glanced at each other. They hadn't considered the issue of the will. Tin-Tin burst out crying and was comforted by her father.

Almost obscured by the sobs, an intermittent sound was heard from the other side of the room. Alan glanced at Lady Penelope's portrait and saw that the beads and her eyes were flashing in time with the beeps. No one else moved so Alan opened the link. "Hi, Penny."

"Alan." Lady Penelope looked to be less than her usual composed self. In fact she appeared to be in shock. "I've just heard the news. Please tell me it isn't true."

"I wish I could..." Alan began; then he caught himself. "Wait a minute. Hadn't Scott told you?"

"No, Alan. I haven't spoken to anyone this week."

Alan could have kicked himself. "I'm sorry, Penny. I would have thought that you should have been one of the first to know."

There was a muttered, "Typical," from Gordon.

"How is everyone?" she asked.

Alan wasn't sure of the answer so he shrugged.

"I would understand if you and your family would wish to be left alone at this time..."

"Try telling that to the media," Virgil interjected.

"But would you permit Parker and myself to fly out to Tracy Island? I... We should like to offer what little support we can."

"I'm sure we'd all appreciate that, Penny," Alan said. "Do you want someone to pick you up?"

"Please, don't trouble yourself, dear boy," Lady Penelope replied. "We can make our own way there."

"When will we see you?" Alan asked.

Lady Penelope consulted her watch. "I should think tomorrow. Mid-morning if that is convenient."

"I'm sure we'll manage to welcome you with open arms. See you tomorrow, Penny."

"Give my best to everyone, Alan."

"Will do." Alan signed off, turned, crossed his arms and scowled at his brother who was still talking with the solicitor.

"Go to the airport and pick up an air taxi," Scott was saying. "We'll pay for the fare, of course."

Alan scribbled a note. 'Penny coming tomorrow.' He thrust it under Scott's nose.

Scott frowned at his brother, took the note, read it and his frown deepened. "It looks as though a friend of ours is coming here tomorrow, Mr Brett. I'm sure she won't mind picking you up on the way."

Mr Brett seemed pleased at the suggestion. "That would be a great weight off my mind, Scott."

"In the meantime," Scott requested. "Would you mind preparing a press release for us? Something along the lines that we would appreciate being left alone at this time?"

"Press release?" Mr Brett squeaked.

Scott nodded. "Yes, please. We've even had press hover-planes hanging around."

"I-I'll see what I can come up with," an obviously unsure solicitor replied.

Scott had an idea. "Here's my email address," he said. If you need to contact me, email me. I'm going to disconnect the phone so we won't be disturbed."

Mr Brett nodded his approval. "Very well, Scott. I'll contact you shortly to confirm the arrangements." He gave Scott a sympathetic smile. "I know this is hard for you, and I'm sure that the last thing that you and your family want to be bothered with is all the fuss over probates and legacies and such like. Why don't you let me take care of all that?"

Scott looked at Mr Brett in gratitude. "Would you? It would be a weight off my mind. Administration isn't my strong suit. It's one respect where none of us take after him."

"I would be glad to help. What's the name of your father's accountant?"

Scott thought a moment. "Hang on, let me check." He scrolled through his father's address book. "Here it is. 'Bold and Gallagher'. Rex Bold is his accountant." He gave the solicitor the necessary contact details before finishing the phone call in a civilised manner. Then he turned on Alan. "What's the big idea of inviting Penny over?"

Alan decided that in this situation he could give as good as he got. "And what's the big idea not telling her? She's a good friend; she's closer to being a relative than most of our relatives, and so is Parker. They must be feeling pretty hurt at the moment!"

"It's none of their business!" Scott stormed. "This is personal."

"Scott!" Virgil admonished. "I thought you'd called her!"

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Me too!"

"If you all feel so strongly about it," Scott snarled, "why didn't any of you give them a call?" An awkward silence followed. "I thought you wouldn't have an answer to that. And since you're all so happy to leave me to do everything, why don't you go away and leave me alone to do just that?" He glared at his brothers. "At least John's had the good sense to keep out of my hair."

It was at that moment that Alan realised that John Tracy had been absent for the last hour.

* * *

Mid-morning the following day, Alan headed down to the runway. Soon he saw the distinctive pink aeroplane come swooping out of the blue Pacific skies. It made an almost perfect touchdown and taxied until it was resting in the shade of the cliff. 

When flying intercontinental, Lady Penelope chose to take the Fireflash airliner, which was able to accommodate the Rolls Royce, FAB1. The Creighton-Ward yacht, FAB2, was ideal for cruising around sea-bound locales in Europe, but for more out of the way locations, such as Tracy Island, the little jet, registration FAB3, was the preferred mode of transport. Another of Brains' designs, it was compact enough to carry six people in comfort while still having the power to fly through the air at half of Thunderbird Two's speed. Her sister craft, FAB4, resided in the States.

Alan moved forward to help lower the stairs into position and extended his hand to assist Lady Penelope. She made her usual graceful exit, unzipping her pink leather flight jacket as she stepped out of the plane. "Alan!" she cried, pulling him into a warm hug. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. He was a wonderful man. One of a kind."

Alan had been wondering how you were expected to behave around a titled lady in such circumstances, even one who was good friend, and was relieved that Lady Penelope had made the first move. "Thank you for coming, Penny. How was the flight?"

"Quite boring," she replied. "No little dramas to test one's flying skills with."

Alan couldn't suppress a grin. Only Lady Penelope would be disappointed at a 'boring', but ultimately safe, flight.

Parker exited the plane carrying an armful of bags, which he deposited on the tarmac. "H-I'm sorry, Mister Alan." He removed his hat as a mark of respect. "Your father was h-a true gent." He spoke with the air of someone whom wanted to say and do more, but wasn't sure if his position would allow it.

Alan solved his dilemma by holding out his hand. "Thank you, Parker. I know he thought highly of you too." Parker turned slightly pink as he shook the young man's hand.

There was a discreet cough from behind the butler, and Alan suddenly remembered the Angus Brett was on the flight as well. "Mr Brett," he said politely.

"Alan," Mr Brett replied. "I am sorry. Truly sorry."

Angus Brett was a colourless, mousy little man. His hair was thinning and combed across in an ill-fated attempt to hide the fact. His eyes were a watery grey, his suit was grey and even his skin appeared to have absorbed the dull colour. His nose was long and his teeth, hidden beneath his moustache, were prominent. The moustache, his only distinguished characteristic, was dark grey, too large and too bushy for a man of his stature. Unfortunately, in a subconscious attempt to bring attention to what Angus Brett regarded as his most striking feature, he had a tendency to preen this hirsute appendage in a manner reminiscent of a mouse cleaning its whiskers. The action only served to add to the man's rodent-like appearance. Even though he'd known the Tracy family for years, he was not one of those that Jeff Tracy had admitted into International Rescue's circle.

"Shall we go up to the house?" Alan suggested.

Mr Brett went to pick up a suitcase, the weight of which caused him to overbalance.

"Let me," Alan offered and picked up the case with ease. He then put one of Lady Penelope's pink cases under his arm, and grabbed another with his spare hand. "I'm afraid we're going to have to walk up to the house. Grandma's decreed that we're not to use the monocar."

"How is Grandmama?" Lady Penelope asked as they began the climb.

"Wary of everything that Brains has designed. She refuses to even consider the possibility that the crash could in any way be Dad's fault."

"And is there a possibility?"

"We don't know. The air accident inspector's going to be emailing a preliminary report tomorrow. Brains is terrified that because he designed the plane that somehow he's at fault. He's confined himself to his lab and keeps on going over and over his plans, trying to find any weak links. If he does find anything I know he'll be devastated."

"That's unlikely, isn't it?" Lady Penelope negotiated a rock that was jutting out of the path.

"I would have thought so," Alan agreed. "Especially since Virgil, Scott and Dad went over the plans as well. And we all were involved with building the plane. Surely one of us would have noticed if something wasn't right."

"I'm sure you would have," Lady Penelope agreed. "How is everyone else?"

"Don't ask," Alan replied. "John hides himself away and has barely said a word since he got back from the res…" He belatedly remembered the solicitor who was following them up the path. "…from work. Instead of eating with us he grabs whatever's on offer and disappears. And whenever we do see him he can't hear us because he's got his headphones on. I know he's usually quiet, but it's becoming ridiculous. Mind you…" Alan sounded reflective. "The others are nearly as bad."

"How do you mean, Alan?"

"Gordon won't get out of the pool. I know we've always joked that he's part fish, but this is getting past a joke. Virgil won't stop eating and Scott's the complete opposite. As far as I'm aware he hasn't had anything to eat since he heard the news… Except for our heads, which he'll bite off at the slightest provocation…" Alan sighed. "You only need to mention Dad and Tin-Tin bursts out crying, and Kyrano spends all his time in the greenhouse. If he prunes those plants any more there'll be nothing left of them," he continued on grimly. "I'm sorry, Penny, but this is not a good time to visit. As far as I can see I'm the only sane one here and if you were to ask one of the others they'd probably tell you that I've developed some psychosis that I'm not aware of."

Lady Penelope contemplated what he'd said as she negotiated the steep trail. Behind her, laden with bags, Parker and Mr Brett puffed their way up the hill.

"I can't even guarantee you a decent meal," Alan was saying. "Grandma's heart isn't in it anymore. I'm a reasonable cook, I've had to learn to be, living alone on Th…" once again he belatedly remembered Angus Brett's lack of knowledge of International Rescue, "…on the mainland. But she won't let anyone else near the kitchen. She's cooking all day and practically everything's inedible."

"Do you know anything about what happened?" Lady Penelope asked.

"Only that he was seen getting into the plane, there was no mayday and no one saw a parachute. So it seems as though he… he was… already…" Alan's voice broke and he dropped the luggage. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

Lady Penelope stopped walking to give the young man a chance to gather himself together. She turned back to her two older companions. "This is a wonderful view," she said gesturing out over the green of the palm trees, the golden beaches and the blue Pacific Ocean. "One should take this path to the house more often. It offers so much more than the ride in the monocar."

Parker, dressed in his heavy chauffeur's uniform and carrying four weighty suitcases, was less enamoured with the suggestion.

Angus Brett gave a squeak of agreement and tried to ignore the blisters that were forming on his heels.

Alan sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Sorry," he apologised. He pocketed his handkerchief, picked up his bags again and started walking.

The others followed in that awkward silence that tends to follow such moments.

As they neared the villa they heard a shout. "Gordon! Get out of there! Penny will be here in a moment!"

"So what, Scott? It's not like she's never seen me in the pool before!"

"Get your butt in here! Now!"

Lady Penelope and Parker were stunned. This wasn't the playful banter that they expected to hear between the Tracy brothers. There was a real antagonism in the two men's voices.

"Welcome to our happy home," Alan said with more than a trace of irony. "We'll go the back way and give Gordon the chance to make up his own mind to get out of the pool."

Feeling somewhat bewildered, the trio followed him. They walked through a heavily pruned garden to the back of the villa and into the kitchen.

Grandma was cooking, but instead of the usual aromatic smells that both Lady Penelope and Parker associated with her art, there was a strong odour of burnt pots and overcooked food.

"Grandmama!" Lady Penelope greeted her. "How are you, my dear?"

"Lady Penelope," Grandma replied. "It's so good of you to come. You too, Parker." She held up her hands. "I'm afraid I'm covered in flour. Go through to the lounge and make yourselves at home." Angus Brett shuffled his feet. "Hello, Mr Brett."

"Good morning, Mrs Tracy."

Lady Penelope followed Alan through the door.

Almost immediately their ear drums were assaulted with the sounds of more shouting. "John Tracy!" Scott bellowed, pounding on the door. "Get out here now!"

The door slid open part way revealing John, still clad in his black pyjamas. "No."

"Aren't you dressed yet? You know Penny's coming today!"

"She's here." John put his headphones over his ears and took a step backwards. The door slammed shut.

"Huh?" Scott turned. "Penny..." He smiled in greeting, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "How are you? Did you have a good trip?"

"Most quiet," Lady Penelope admitted as she embraced him.

"Parker," Scott shook hands. "Mr Brett… Ah… Shall we go through to the lounge? I'm sure John won't be long."

Alan gave their guests an apologetic look. "I'll put your bags in your rooms."

They entered the sun-filled room to be greeted by the last two members of the Tracy family. As the greetings were made, Alan glanced at the row of portraits on the wall and was relieved to see that Scott had had the presence of mind to initiate Operation Cover-Up.

Virgil smiled at the visitors. "I'm covered in chocolate so I won't get too close. That's one of the disadvantages of living on a tropical island; the heat."

"Virgil!" Scott snapped. "Go and wash your hands!" Virgil glanced at his brother but made no comment.

"And once you've done that," Gordon sneered, "roll over and he might scratch your tummy."

Virgil gave him a neutral stare, but decided that it was easier to leave the room than argue with his brothers.

Gordon extended his hand in greeting and gave Scott a sideways look. "I'm dry and I'm clean, so I'll be civil. Thanks for coming, Penny. Parker."

Lady Penelope gave him a hug before she sat on one of the chairs. "I know I said it before, but I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. Your father was a wonderful man."

Scott had reclaimed the desk. "Thanks, Penny. Sorry I didn't call and tell you personally, but I've been busy trying to catch up with everything." He indicated the papers lying about in front of him.

"He didn't even have time to tell us that he didn't have time to tell you," Gordon said. "It seems that the older members of this family have no conception of the proper way to break bad news." This time the sideways look was directed towards John, who had just entered the room, wearing his headphones.

"Gordon, shut up!" Scott snapped.

"How are you, John?" Lady Penelope asked. He didn't reply. "John?"

John didn't appear to hear her.

Alan, followed by Virgil, who was munching on a candy bar, returned. "Grandma says that lunch is ready," he said without enthusiasm.

* * *

Lunch was less than appetising. John had been about to grab some food and leave when he'd been ordered to stay by Scott. He'd glared at his brother and, grudgingly, had remained at the meal table still wearing his headphones. Scott, out of consideration for their guests, had sat at the table, but had not eaten. In contrast Virgil appeared to eat enough for the both of them. Gordon had been civil to Lady Penelope, Parker and Mr Brett, but had made his disdain for his older brothers obvious. Grandma kept on making little remarks that made it clear where she laid the blame for their misfortune. Alan spent the meal wishing he could crawl away and hide from the embarrassment that his family was causing him. 

Grandma laid her cutlery on her plate. "How did you get here, Lady Penelope?" she asked.

Lady Penelope had been trying to wash away the taste of burnt eggs with a cup of tea. "We came in FAB3."

"Oh?" Mrs Tracy looked surprised. "Don't you think it would be prudent to fly by air taxi? At least until after the accident report comes out? You don't know what design faults they might find, and I should hate to think what might happen should those faults be present in your plane too."

Brains dropped his coffee mug. It landed on the table, splashing everything and everyone in the near vicinity, before it rolled off the edge. He quickly ducked down out of sight to retrieve it.

Angus Brett cleared his throat. "Where would you like me to read Jeff's will?" he squeaked.

Scott stood. "I guess the lounge is as good as anywhere."

Mr Brett cleared his throat again. "Ah… Isn't there somewhere more private?"

"Parker and I are quite willing to retire to our rooms, aren't we, Parker?"

"Yes, m'Lady."

"I'm, ah, afraid, that's it is not only you who is not a party to the will, Lady Penelope," Mr Brett admitted.

Scott sat down again. "Then who do you want?"

Angus Brett looked at his plate. "Jeff's sons."

"And?" Scott asked.

"Just… Just you, Scott. And John, and Virgil, and Gordon, and Alan."

Scott stared at the solicitor. "But what about Grandma?"

"And Brains?" Virgil asked.

"And Kyrano?" Gordon added.

"And Tin-Tin?" Alan exclaimed. "Dad always said he'd included everyone in his will. He said everyone who lived on the island was a part of his family and would be treated as such."

"I-I'm sorry," Mr Brett stammered. "But I can't go into the details now, but Jeff came to see me last time he was in Kansas and altered the details of his will. I can only say that the only people mentioned in Jeff Tracy's final will are his five sons."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Don't worry," Scott eventually said. "We'll make sure you're all looked after."

"Yes," Alan nodded. "It's what he would have wanted. I'm sure of that."

There were nods of affirmation from the other three bewildered boys.

"Shall we go to the study?" Scott suggested. "That's private."

As Mr Brett and the five Tracy men walked into the study and pulled back the curtains to let in the light, Alan couldn't help but feel that this wasn't the room that he should be in. It had always been his father's private workspace; a place where the Tracy patriarch could retire and not be interrupted. Alan felt as if he were intruding into a sacred site.

His brothers appeared to feel the same as they stood around in an awkward manner, watching as Angus Brett pulled the leather chair out from behind their father's desk, placed his briefcase on the antique mahogany finish and withdrew some papers. He sat down and looked at five anxious faces.

"Better get it over with." Scott pulled up a chair so it was facing the desk and sat down. The others followed suit.

There was a rustling sound.

"Can't you stop eating for ten minutes?" Scott yanked a candy bar out of Virgil's hands and threw it onto the table in front of them. He ignored his brother's hurt look. "And take those headphones off, John!"

"I can hear okay," John replied.

Scott leant over and ripped the audio device off his brother's head. "You can listen to that later!" He sat back. "Okay, Mr Brett. We're ready…"

---F-A-B---

No one else moved from the dining room after the men had departed. Tin-Tin began sobbing and Lady Penelope handed her a dainty handkerchief.

"I am old," Mrs Tracy said. "I did not expect to be remembered. I am sure that Jeff thought that he would outlive me. But you…" she indicated the Kyranos. "I was sure that you would have been uppermost in Jefferson's thoughts when he made out his will."

"Do not worry yourself, Mrs Tracy," Kyrano said. "I have no need of material things."

"I know," she replied. "But even so…" Grandma looked at Tin-Tin's tearful face. "Now don't you worry," she said with conviction. "I am sure that the boys will look after you. Jeff brought them up properly."

"I-I am sure th-that I-I am not d-deserving of any i-i-inheritance," Brains stuttered.

And Grandma didn't deny it.

---F-A-B---

Angus Brett, having just disclosed the contents of the will, lay the document on the table in front of him. "So," he said, "in a nutshell, everything your father owned is divided equally amongst the five of you."

"Great! So we're rich," Gordon said in a flat voice. "I'd give every cent away if it meant I could have him back."

There was a murmuring of agreement from his brothers.

Mr Brett cleared his throat. "I'm, ah, I'm afraid it's not that easy, Gordon. I've been looking into your father's finances… and it appears that he wasn't as well off as everyone thought… Including me, I might add."

Scott looked at the solicitor. "What do you mean, not 'as well off'?"

"I mean… And I'm sorry to have to tell you all this… but it appears that your father has made several large purchases over the last few years…"

The five Tracy brothers looked at each other, certain that they knew what those purchases were for.

International Rescue.

"And…" Angus Brett continued on. "He has exceeded his available capital."

"Meaning?" Scott asked.

"Meaning… that… towards the end of his life… your father was borrowing heavily."

"So there's no money left?" Alan asked.

"Not only that, but he has left several large debts…"

"That's okay," Gordon said. "We've all got our own savings. We can pay them back, right, fellas?"

His brothers nodded their agreement.

Mr Brett cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, I'm not talking a few hundred dollars, but closer to several billion. I have a letter from his accountant to prove it. Would the five of you have that much money between you?" He handed the letter to a numb Scott. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings."

There was a rustling sound. Virgil was eating the candy bar again.

* * *

Those in the lounge looked up when six extremely solemn looking men paraded back into the room. John was wearing his headphones again and he retired to a chair in a corner. 

Gordon flopped into another chair, on the other side of the room. "Well," he announced. "You can all count yourselves lucky you weren't mentioned in the will 'cause you're better off than we are. We're broke."

"More than broke," Virgil had seated himself at the piano. "We're in debt… Up to here," he added waving the hand that wasn't holding a packet of sweets above his head.

"A debt as big as this island," Alan groaned.

"I'm sorry." Mr Brett was clearly at a loss as to what else he should say.

"But… Jeff Tracy was one of the richest men in the world!" Lady Penelope exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Parker agreed. "H-Everyone knows that."

"Apparently one person knew that wasn't true, so he minimised the risk to others," Scott said, his elbows on his father's desk, his head in his hands. "That's why we're the only ones mentioned in his will."

"But what about insurances?" Lady Penelope asked. "I would assume that Jeff would have had adequate life insurance."

The five Tracy sons perked up slightly at the idea.

But Mr Brett was shaking his head. "I don't think you should get your hopes up in that regard. The insurance companies will take their time in paying out," he explained. "Under the circumstances, because of the size of the debts, they may form the opinion that… Jeff…"

Everyone looked at him.

"…So the debts could be repaid..." Mr Brett hesitated. "…Took his own life."

"No way!" Scott exploded. "He'd never do that!"

"Especially not in a way that would risk other people's lives!" Virgil exclaimed.

Alan agreed. "There's no way he'd fly a plane purposefully into a mall!"

"He was a fighter," Gordon stated. "He wouldn't give up. He'd fight until he'd paid the money back somehow!"

"Knowing Jeff, I would agree with you," Mr Brett soothed, "but insurance companies are never keen on paying out, especially on large claims. They would want to fully investigate the circumstances behind your father's death. And their investigations would take time… It's time that you don't have," he added.

"You mean these debts have got to be paid soon?" Scott asked.

"Not necessarily soon, but each debt is accumulating interest at an astronomical rate. Should you wait too long even your father's insurance might not be enough to repay what is owing."

The room fell into silence.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Mr Brett said. "Especially at a time such as this. But I'm sure you understand the urgency of the situation."

"We understand," Scott replied. "Thank you for being so up front with us."

Silence descended again.

"If there's any way I can help?" Lady Penelope asked.

"Thanks, Penny. But I think this is one time where we can't call on you," Scott told her.

"You realise that we're all going to have to get real jobs," Gordon said.

"We've got the skills, but who's going to employ us?" Alan asked. "As far as the world knows we could have been pretending to be working for our father when in fact we've been lazing about doing nothing. We haven't even got decent references."

"And even supposing that we do all manage to walk into suitable jobs straight away," Virgil reached into his bag of sweets. "There's no way that we'll earn enough to pay the debts! Not with that amount of money owing."

"And look at what we'll be giving up!" Scott indicated their row of portraits on the wall. To Mr Brett the gesture meant nothing other than the loss of their way of life. To everyone else it meant the end of International Rescue.

"John!" Alan gave vent to his frustrations. "Will you say something?! We're talking about the end of everything Dad worked for!"

John looked even more miserable as he adjusted his headphones.

"Well said as usual, John." Gordon's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You always know the right thing to say."

"Shut up, Gordon," Scott snapped.

"And you're just as bad!" Gordon snapped back.

"Why you…"

"I know it's been a shock to you all," Mr Brett interrupted, "and you need time to think and to talk amongst yourselves. I feel that if I were to stay I would only be in the way. Perhaps… Would you allow me to call for an air taxi?"

Lady Penelope stood. "No. I won't hear of it. I will fly you home, Mr Brett. As you said, this is something for the family to discuss and we would be in the way." She turned back to the Tracys. "Please, all of you, remember that I am only a video call away. If I can help in any way, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Penny," Scott mumbled. "We'll be in touch… One way or another."

_To be continued…_


	4. The Sale

**04 Four: The Sale**

Parker pulled open the stately double doors that led into the lounge. Swinging opening these doors always gave him a feeling of pleasure and contentment. Unlike modern doors that quietly slid open at the wave of a finger, the manual manipulation of two large slabs of oak, gave him a… sense of occasion! Of grandeur!

He entered the room, closing the doors behind him. His mistress was seated at a table laden with a silver tea-service; a delicate china cup at her elbow. It was, he noticed as he drew closer, still full of Earl Grey and cold. "M'Lady?"

Lady Penelope appeared to awaken out of her reverie and looked up at him. "Yes, Parker?"

"Was the tea not to your likin'?"

"Tea?

Parker indicated the cup.

"Oh!" Lady Penelope picked it up and regarded it with distaste. "I'm afraid it is past its best."

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker began packing the tea service on its tray. "Would H-I be right in h-assuming that h-if H-I were to offer you h-a penny for your thoughts, H-I would be wastin' me money?"

"Quite probably, Parker. I can't believe that he is no longer with us."

"Mr Tracy?"

"Mr Tracy," Lady Penelope confirmed. "He was such a vibrant, caring, generous man. It seems impossible…"

"Yes, m'Lady," Parker agreed.

"And that poor family!"

"They're takin' h-it 'ard."

"Very hard. Alan was right. John barely said a word while we were there."

"H-And Mister Virgil's packing h-on the beef."

"While Scott appears to be, ah, losing 'the beef', just as quickly. And Gordon's hair! What that chlorine is doing to it! I wish I could introduce him to my hair stylist for some remedial work."

"H-I sent 'em h-a sympathy card, but H-I saw that they 'adn't h-opened the mail bag. H-I'm sure Mr Tracy would 'ave 'ad plenty of h-acquaintances 'oo would've wanted to send their condolences. There wasn't h-a card h-in the place."

"I noticed that too. It's as if they are trying to cut themselves off from the world."

"No wonder, with the press botherin' them. H-After h-all these years h-of tryin' to h-avoid the spotlight."

"They must be feeling like they are trapped in a fish bowl."

"H-And knowin' that they're goin' to 'ave to give h-up, H-International Rescue," Parker shook his head. "That's been their lives. H-It was Mr Tracy's dream."

"They possibly could have coped with Jeff's death if they knew they could still carry on with his work," Lady Penelope mused. "But now…"

"H-And to cap h-it off, that lawyer codger goes h-and tells 'em they're broke, wiv h-a debt the size of Mount H-Everest!"

"That is what is really worrying. This whole affair has knocked them badly. I shudder to think what that news has done to them. I wish I could help, but I don't have that kind of money. Even if I were to sell the family home…"

"M'Lady!" Parker exclaimed, aghast at the idea.

"I wouldn't. And it's such a monstrosity that the only people who would buy it are developers who would knock the manor down and build some characterless subdivision, or convert it to flats, or something equally disgusting. No, if nothing else one must be assured of a roof over ones head that one can call home." Lady Penelope sighed. "That poor family," she repeated. "I wish there was something I could do to help them…"

* * *

Alan entered the lounge to find most of his family present. As he'd expected Scott was sitting at their father's desk, pouring over some documents, and Alan had decided to do something about it. "Scott, we can help you with that!" 

Scott looked up and for once there wasn't anger in his face, but sadness. "What, Alan?"

"You don't have to shoulder all the paperwork. We're all in this together. We're equal 'beneficiaries' under the will, so therefore we should help with the running of the business. You're not cut out to be stuck behind a desk all day. Let us help!"

Scott indicated the papers in his hands. "This isn't to do with business. It's the Air Accident Inspector's interim report."

At his words the room was stilled. "What does it say?" Grandma asked.

"Hang on. Gordon should hear this too. I'll get him." Virgil left the piano and went to the balcony.

"I'll get John," Alan offered. "I guess he's in his room, asleep."

Virgil was leaning over the balustrade so he could yell down towards the pool. "Gordon…! Gordon…! Come up here!" He waited; a frown on his face. "It's no good. He's not listening to me."

"Let me," Tin-Tin offered. "Gordon," she called. "Please come inside for a moment."

"Okay. I'll be with you in a minute."

Alan re-entered the lounge, followed by John. The latter was in his pyjamas and was in the process of tying his robe about him. He claimed a seat and adjusted his headphones.

Soon afterwards they heard footsteps coming up the outside stairs. "What's up?" Gordon asked.

"Scott's got the A.A.I.'s report," Tin-Tin told him.

"Oh." Gordon walked past the empty seat next to John, placed a towel on the chair beside Brains, and sat down.

Grandma claimed the seat beside John. "What does the report say, Scott?"

Scott cleared his throat and summarised the document. "It says that Jefferson Tracy was seen boarding his plane. The control tower received a request from him to take off, which was granted. His plane left the airport. Five minutes later it was seen on radar to do a sharp dive. It crashed into the Sunflower Mall injuring 116 people, 18 critically. 36 people were killed…" He paused. "Including the pilot."

There was silence, apart from Tin-Tin's tears, as his words sunk home.

"D-D-D-Do they know wh-wh-wh-what c-c-c-caused the c-c-c-crash?" Brains stammered out.

"No. They've removed the remains of the plane to a sealed hangar so they can examine them fully."

This time the silence lasted longer.

"So that's that," Virgil eventually said. "I think a part of me was hoping that maybe he'd been bopped on the head and his plane stolen, but I guess that report's pretty conclusive." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something to eat.

Alan realised that he'd been holding onto a similar dream. "I suppose we're going to have to start thinking about the funeral. Virgil, you can decide on what music to have. John, you can come up with some appropriate poems or readings or something…"

"Alan!" Scott interrupted. "There's not going to be a funeral. Not a conventional one anyway."

His family stared at him. "What!?"

"The report says," Scott explained. "That the explosion when the plane crashed was so intense that there's… that…" He struggled for the words. "That there's nothing to bury."

Hearing a choked sound from his grandmother John put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

Tin-Tin's sobs grew louder.

Scott continued his explanation. "They had to use a DNA scanner to confirm the identity of the pilot."

Gordon found himself back in the pool. He had no recollection of leaving the lounge and walking or running down the steps. He didn't remember diving in. All he was aware of was the reassuring caress of the waters on his body. He dove down to the bottom of the pool feeling the water embrace him. Comforting him and protecting him from the knowledge that one of the people that he'd held dearest had gone forever.

Still in the lounge, Alan looked at his family. He couldn't remember ever seeing them all so depressed.

Scott was talking to Brains. "Because it's 'experimental' the A.A.I. needs the plans for the plane."

Brains nodded. "I-I can do that... I-I, ah, would like to talk to the inspector, Scott."

"I'll get him on the phone."

A short time later Brains was taking with the chief Air Accident Inspector. "Do you have a-any i-idea wh-wh-what c-c-c-c…"

"Caused the accident?" the A.A.I. guessed. "Not as yet. That's why we need the plans."

"I-I will send them th-through shortly," Brains stated. "I'll s-send e-everything I have. Photos, pictures, diagrams… Ah, S-Scott has your email address?"

"Yes," the inspector said as Scott nodded.

Brains hesitated. "I-I know it's irregular. B-But could I, ah… W-Would it be acceptable if I were to w-watch?"

The inspector frowned. "I don't know that that's a good…"

"I'll sit back. I-I won't t-touch anything," Brains promised. "I-I n-need to know wh-what happened as m-much as you do."

The inspector shook his head. "No. I'm sorry but we can't allow it."

For a moment Brains looked as if he was going to plead his case. Then he nodded. "I-I u-understand."

While this was going on, Alan was looking at the unopened bags of mail. They were bigger than usual and he had no doubt they were full of sympathy cards. He decided that maybe at this time everyone needed to know that others had remembered them and, like Lady Penelope and Parker, wanted to offer their support. He pulled a bag open.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked.

Normally Alan would have been tempted to be flippant, but instead he gave a straightforward reply. "I'm going through the mail." He sat on the floor and started stacking the envelopes in piles, labelling each under his breath as he did so. "Sympathy… Sympathy… Account… Scott… John… Sympathy… Gordon… Sympathy… Grandma… Me…" He opened the envelope and read a message of condolence from one of the men who'd been his main competition during his racing days. Then he resumed stacking the mail. "Sympathy… Tin-Tin… Sympathy… Sympathy for Virgil… Tracy Ind…" He looked at the letter more closely. "'The Estate of Jefferson Tracy,' he read out. "This one's from 'Walker and Crawford'. Aren't they the company's solicitors?"

Scott held out his hand. "Give me the Tracy Industries ones. I'll look at them later." He dropped the envelope onto the desk.

"Here's one from Aunt Bella," Alan said, opening an envelope and removing the card. A white fluffy bear, with mournful eyes, stared back at him. "Sorry to hear you're not well," he read and chuckled. "Typical. She's gone and sent us a 'get well soon' card. She probably liked the picture."

Ignored by his family, he resumed his self-appointed task.

* * *

Some time later Scott made a phone call. "I got your email, Mr Brett." 

"Hello, Scott. How is everyone?"

Scott shrugged and gave an enigmatic reply. "Coping."

"I may have some good news for you," Mr Brett explained. "It's one of those wonderful coincidences that happen in this world. I was thinking about your problem before I saw another of my clients. In the course of our meeting he happened to mention that he would like to buy an island. He's envisaging a tropical paradise. Naturally I thought of you."

Scott blinked at the solicitor. "An island?"

Mr Brett nodded. "Yes. I hadn't mentioned anything about your situation and I haven't told him that I'm working for you. But he's an extremely wealthy man. Without getting into specifics I told him about your dilemma and he's interested in taking on your debts in exchange for your island."

"Tracy Island?" Scott clarified.

"Yes," Mr Brett nodded.

"Our… Our home?"

"Yes," Mr Brett repeated.

"But we've never considered selling it. We've never even thought about it."

"I can believe that, and I know it seems to be a drastic measure, but as it could be the solution to your problems, I urge you all to think about it. I don't need to remind you that the interest on the debts is growing."

"No, you don't," Scott agreed.

"I'm emailing through the contract now," Mr Brett told him. "Then the five of you can discuss it between you."

"Yes, Sir. We'll do that."

"I'll catch an air taxi and see you tomorrow," Mr Brett offered.

"Thank you," Scott replied. "We'll read the contract through and give you our decision then." A beep from the computer told him that the email had arrived. He opened the attachment and printed out five copies. Then he went to the patio and leant over the railing. "Gordon! Would you come up here?"

"In a minute."

"Now, Gordon! It's important! Get up here!" Scott spied a figure in the distance, sitting in the shade of a palm tree. "Come inside, John!"

John didn't move.

Gordon, deciding that his two choices were to either show John up by being first into the lounge or to flaunt Scott's authority, launched himself out of the pool and up the stairs.

Scott made an angry sound and lifted his wristwatch communicator. "Come in, John…" There was no reply. Scott made another angry exclamation and sent a tactile signal to his brother's watch.

A moment later John was looking back at him through the video monitor in the timepiece. "What?"

"Come inside."

"Why?"

"Because I said so!" Scott changed channel. "Alan! Get in here now!"

"Okay, Scott," Alan agreed. "I'm on my way."

"No…" Scott contradicted himself. "Meet us in the study. We'll discuss this in private first."

"Discuss what?" Alan asked.

Scott hung up on him.

Gordon looked uncomfortable. "Do we have to meet in the study? Can't it be here?"

"The study's more private," Scott reminded him.

"I realise that, but… It doesn't feel right somehow. It was Dad's. Why don't we meet in one of our rooms, or the library?"

Scott considered the suggestion before firing up his watch again. "Alan! We're meeting in the library."

Alan, who was hovering reluctantly outside his father's study door, was glad of the change of venue.

"Anyone seen Virgil?" Scott asked as he led two of his four brothers down the hall.

"At a guess," Gordon said. "Since he hasn't been depressing us all with his piano playing, he's in the kitchen."

"I'll go get him," Scott said. "You guys meet us in the library. Get something dry on, Gordon."

"I am dry."

"I'm not going to enter into a debate with you. Just do it!"

Scott found Virgil going through his grandmother's baking, trying to find something edible.

Virgil held out a tin. "Would you like a biscuit?"

"No."

"You should eat something, Scott. You haven't had anything in days."

Scott ignored the comment. "The five of us are having a meeting in the library."

"Meeting? What about?"

"If you'd stop thinking about your stomach for five minutes, Virgil, and would just go to the library you'd find out!"

Virgil tried not to sound aggrieved at his brother's accusation. "Okay," he shrugged. "I'll bring the tin. The others might feel like having something."

"This is a meeting, not a social function!"

"But…"

"And you are not to eat in the library! We don't want crumbs on the floor."

"Okay," Virgil agreed again with little enthusiasm. He stopped by the pantry on the way out and grabbed some snack bars.

John and Alan had set up a table and placed five chairs around it by the time Scott and Virgil arrived.

Gordon arrived seconds later, towelling down his hair. "What's this about?"

Scott waited till they were all seated. "I've been talking to Mr Brett. He thinks he's found a solution to our problem." His brothers listened attentively. "It's going to mean big changes to us all."

"Whatever happens it's going to mean changes," Virgil said. "What's his suggestion?"

"He said one of his other clients is willing to take on our debts in exchange for Tracy Island."

"What!" His brothers stared at him.

"Here are copies of the contract," Scott handed them around the table. "I want us all to read it and then we should make a decision…"

The five of them spent the next ten minutes perusing the documents. The only sound in the library was the occasional rustle of paper as a page was turned, and the crackle of a snack bar wrapper.

Eventually Scott laid his papers down on the paper. "Seems straightforward enough. Anyone have any thoughts?"

"What about International Rescue?" Alan asked. "If we leave Tracy Island we've got no chance of keeping it going."

"We haven't anyway," Scott reminded him. "With no money we can't afford to. I've been going over the figures… Do you have any idea how much the organisation costs to run?" Four brothers shook their heads. "It's no wonder he went into debt."

"But to sell the island…" Virgil sat back in his chair. "Father loved it here. Don't we have any other options?"

"If you can think of any I'd love to hear them," Scott told him.

"John could go on a speaking circuit," Gordon suggested.

"If you don't have anything sensible to say, Gordon…"

"It's not only us we've got to consider," Alan noted. "What about Grandma and Tin-Tin and Kyrano and Brains? Where are they going to live?"

"And where are we going to live?" Gordon asked.

"Father's got property all over the world," Scott reminded him.

"Well why don't we sell them?" Gordon asked. "We can't sell our home."

"Because we have a buyer for the island and it's worth more than the other properties put together... Who knows how long the other places could be on the market? And all the time the debt's getting bigger."

"So you're saying we should sell the island, cut our losses, and run?" Alan clarified.

"I'm saying it's an option… and that at the moment it's the only real option we have."

"Okay, I'm going to play the devil's advocate," Gordon said. "Supposing we go ahead with this plan to sell Tracy Island. What do we do about International Rescue? What about the infrastructure of the place? What do we do about the Thunderbirds and the rest of the equipment?"

The five of them looked at each other.

"We're going to have to destroy them," Scott said. At the resulting outbreak of complaint he held up his hand. "I know. I hate the idea too. But what else can we do? It's not like we can store them anywhere… I mean, at a pinch, Thunderbird Four could be stored in a shed somewhere, but where could we put Thunderbird Two and Three?"

"I can't destroy Thunderbird Two," Virgil declared. "Why don't we just seal up the hangars so no one can get in?"

"That's fine until someone decides to reline the pool or extend the plane hangars into the cliff," Scott pointed out. "Then our secret will be exposed and someone else will have their hands on our equipment… possibly the wrong person… Someone who'll use them for their own ends. Do you want Thunderbird Two to be used to bring the world to its knees?"

"No," Virgil said quietly.

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

Virgil shook his head, clearly unhappy.

"Anyone?" Scott asked.

No one did.

Scott took a deep breath. "I can't see that we have any option… Hands up all those who want to sell Tracy Island." He raised his hand.

No one moved.

Scott dropped his arm and glared at them all.

"I think you'd better rephrase that, Scott," Gordon suggested.

"For Pete's sake! Okay! Hand's up all those who think we should sell Tracy Island because we have no other option!" He demonstrated how he expected the others to proceed.

Five brothers looked at each other.

"I know we're all thinking the same thing," Alan said. "We don't want to sell, but we all know that we have no choice. And, honestly, what have we got to keep us here? We came to this island so we could operate International Rescue in secret. Now we can't afford to keep International Rescue going, we've no reason to stay." He sighed. "I don't want to do it, but I'll be the one to set the ball rolling." He raised his hand.

John looked at the men seated about the table, and then, with obvious unwillingness, raised his arm.

"Just so long as we find somewhere safe to hide Thunderbird Four," Gordon stated, lifting his arm off the table.

They all looked at Virgil. "I don't know that I can," he said.

"All you care about is your precious Thunderbird!" Gordon stated. "You don't care about the rest of us, or Grandma, or Tin-…!"

"Don't care!?" Virgil rejoined. "You're the one who's put a proviso on his vote to save his Thunderbird. None of us have that option!"

"Virgil…" Scott began.

"No!" Virgil got to his feet and started pacing. "I'm not only thinking about Thunderbird Two. I'm thinking that father didn't live here solely because of International Rescue. He lived here because he loved it! He loved the clear skies, he loved the Pacific Ocean. He loved the fact that we were all able to live and work together. He LOVED Tracy Island! And I don't know about you guys, but so do I!" He turned and looked at his brothers. "What about Grandma? She's sold her home! Where's she going to live? With us? Alone? And do you realise that if we leave here we'll all end up going our separate ways? None of us want to be tied to a desk at Tracy Industries head office. We want to be out doing what we're good at and enjoy! I'd want to be doing something to do with engineering. You'll want to be flying all over the world," he pointed at Scott, before switching his attention to Gordon. "You'll probably end up doing oceanographic research at the bottom of the sea somewhere... You'll be touring with a racing team," he reminded Alan. "And you'll probably sign up with a space station, John. We could end up miles… fathoms… half a world away from each other. Have any of you thought about that?" He leant on the back of his chair and glowered at his brothers.

Alan tried to sound reasonable. "I'm sure we all have thought of that, Virgil. The problem is that, whatever happens, we can't stay here. If we do stay what are we going to live on?"

Virgil flung his arm towards the window. "There's an ocean of fish out there. And Kyrano's garden."

"Fair enough," Alan agreed. "But you said yourself that we're going to want to do what we love. To do that we need money… or at least contact with the outside world. What are you going to do? Tinker with Thunderbird Two for the rest of your life? Sooner or later you're going to need money for tools, parts, fuel… And you won't have any. Sooner or later our place on the island would become untenable and we'd have to leave. And when we leave we'll have nothing to start again with. No one will want to know us. The name of Tracy will mean nothing. This way's hard, but the alternative is harder."

Virgil sat down heavily on his chair; folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them. "I can't," he mumbled into his sleeve.

John reached out to his brother, giving Virgil's shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Scott made as if he were going to mimic the gesture, but stopped himself.

An alarm went off.

"I don't believe this," Scott moaned. "We can't go on a rescue now." He glared at Alan. "Didn't you turn it off?"

"No. I hadn't thought that we might be shutting down International Rescue."

Virgil sat up again. "What do we do?"

"We can't go," Gordon stated. "It's as simple as that."

"Why not?" Alan asked. Four brothers looked at him as he leant forward, concentrating on his eldest brother. "Scott, you've been going through our inventory, haven't you?"

"Yes…"

"Are we short of anything?"

"No," Scott shook his head.

There was a knock on the door to the library and Tin-Tin poked her head inside. "I-I'm sorry. I-I wasn't sure if you'd…"

Scott stood. "We heard it. Come on, fellas."

She opened the door completely and stood back to let them through. "What are you going to do? You're not going to respond, are you?"

"Why not?" Gordon asked. "It's probably going to be our last rescue. We may as well make the most of it."

Scott made a beeline for his father's desk and opened a radio link. "This is International Rescue. Go ahead."

"Ah! International Rescue! Good! We need your help! There's been an accident in a research warehouse."

"What kind of accident?"

"Chemicals have mixed together to form a gaseous hazard. It's lethal…"

Scott frowned. "Can't you evacuate the area?"

"We have. But there's two workmen trapped in a sealed room inside the building. They can't get out because of the gas and we can't get to them. So far we've been lucky because it's a heavy gas and there's no wind today, but if we get so much as a breeze, that gas is going to be blown over a highly populated area. If it touches the skin it means instant death."

"Nice," Gordon muttered.

"Can you give our expert the details of the chemicals?" Scott asked.

Brains listened, nodding, as various elements of the periodic table were read out. "W-We can deal with that."

"Thank heavens," the man sounded relieved.

"T-Take filters one and eight, V-Virgil."

"F-A-B."

"Which part of the world are you?" Scott asked, making notes.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to tell you. The United States. Kansas… but I guess you know where that is after your last rescue."

Everyone looked at each other. No one said a word.

"A-Are you still there?" the caller asked.

"Sorry," Scott apologised. "We were just deciding how we're going to handle this. We'll get back to you when we've made our plans." He disconnected the link, sitting back in his father's chair. "Kansas…"

"That's irony for you," Gordon said. "The part of the world were we started, is the part where International Rescue is finishing."

Scott looked at his brothers. "Who wants to go? Virgil? Gordon? Alan? John?"

"Try and stop us, Scott."

"Of course we want to go."

"We can't back out now."

"Definitely."

Scott looked down, running his finger along his father's desk. "I wish I could come."

"You don't have to stay, Scott," Alan told him. "We need you at the danger zone. It wouldn't be the same without you ordering us about."

"I-I'll stay here," Brains offered. "I can k-keep communications open and I'll have a-access to my c-computer database."

"Okay…" Scott was a mixture of reluctance and desire. "This is what we'll do. I'll take Thunderbird One. Gordon can come with me…"

"Huh?" Gordon said. "Why?"

"Because we can't afford personality clashes while we're on a mission. Until you start getting along with Virgil and John I'm keeping you as far apart from them as possible."

"Until **I** start getting along?!"

Scott ignored him. "Alan and John, you both go in Thunderbird Two." He looked uncertainly at his eldest brother. "Leave the headphones at home, okay?" John gave him a look that clearly read 'what do you take me for?' "We'll need the suction unit and the polyplastic bag as well as those filters. Which were they again, Brains?"

"O-One and eight, Scott."

"One and eight. Have you got that Virgil…?" Scott looked at the group in front of him. "Where is Virgil?"

"He went into the kitchen," Tin-Tin told him.

"Typical," Gordon said. "Leave him. We don't need him. I'll fly Thunderbird Two."

Scott scowled at the aquanaut. "We're not leaving anyone! I told you, you're coming with me!"

Virgil entered the lounge. He placed what looked like a thick-shake on the desk in front of Scott. "There. Drink that."

"What?"

Virgil folded his arms and stared down at the still seated Scott. "It's an energy drink. You've had nothing to eat in ages. I'm not having you flake out at the controls of Thunderbird One."

"I don't want it."

"Either you have it or someone else is piloting Thunderbird One."

"No way!" Scott protested. "If this is the last time we fly Thunderbird One, I'm flying her."

"Then get that down you!" Virgil was in a stubborn frame of mind. "We're wasting time arguing."

"He's right, Scott," Alan backed his brother up. "You need to eat something."

Grumbling to himself Scott sipped at the drink. "There!" He said when he was a quarter of the way through. "Happy now?"

"No. Finish it," Virgil ordered.

"Virgil, who's in command here!?"

"It won't be you if we don't believe that you're up to it. Right, Guys?"

He received a "Right," from Alan, a nod from John and, surprisingly, agreement from Gordon.

Now truly angry, Scott downed the remainder of the drink in one gulp and then pointed at his brother. "You and I will have this out later. In the meantime we have a rescue to carry out."

But they still faced one obstacle. Grandma Tracy was standing with her back against the wall, between the two lamps, blocking the entrance to Thunderbird One. "No!" she insisted. "You are not going. Any of you!"

"Grandma!" Scott exclaimed. "We have to."

"No, you don't."

"I said we would."

"I don't care. I can't lose you as well."

"Nothing will happen to us," Scott insisted. "We've got our safety gear."

Grandma could be as stubborn as a mule when she put her mind to it. "And how will that help you when you're in those Thunderbirds?"

There was a small sound from Brains.

"Grandma," John protested.

"The Thunderbirds are perfectly safe," Scott added.

"Are you sure?" She glared at him in defiance.

"Positive."

Virgil took a step to the side. Closer to the painting of the rocket.

Scott saw the movement. "Grandma," he said, creating a diversion while Virgil took the opportunity to make another surreptitious move. "The Thunderbirds have flown thousands of miles… Millions! And we've never had any problems except from outside influences."

Virgil inched sideways again.

"Don't you take another step, young man," his grandmother scolded him. "I can see what you are doing."

"Please, Grandma. Let us go," Virgil begged.

"The Thunderbirds are perfectly safe," Scott reiterated.

"Your father thought his plane was perfectly safe, and look what happened." She shook her head. "No! I'm not letting any of you leave this room." She folded her arms and glared at Scott.

He stepped out from behind the desk. "Take over, Brains," he instructed.

Brains obeyed the order.

"Don't you go anywhere near that desk!" Grandma spat. "It was my son's!"

Humiliated, Brains moved away.

"As you were!" Scott barked.

Brains stopped.

"I want you at that desk throughout this rescue," Scott told him. "We need your backup."

"No! I won't have it!" Grandma insisted. "He's not sitting there and you're not going!"

Taking advantage to the diversion, Virgil made a dash for his painting.

"No!" his grandmother cried.

"I'm sorry, Grandma," Virgil apologised as he tipped out of sight.

Grandma reached out towards the departing figure of her middle grandson. Scott, taking advantage of the distraction, ran over to the wall and took her place between the lamps. As he reached up to grasp them, intending to depress the hidden buttons that would send him swinging around into Thunderbird One's hangar, she grabbed his hand. "Please, Scott. Don't…"

Her anxious voice tugged at his heartstrings and Scott lowered his arms. "Grandma," he insisted. "Let us go. Do you think if I had any doubts about the safety of any of our craft I'd let my brothers use them?"

"But if I were to lose any of you too…"

"Grandma," Alan took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. "We will be okay. But there're two men out there who won't be if we don't help them. More than two if that gas spreads."

She looked at him, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Don't put their families through what we're going through," Gordon said. "Not when we can prevent it."

"I can't let you go," his grandma sobbed.

"Please, let us go, Grandma," Scott asked, as gently as he could. "This is probably International Rescue's last mission."

"Don't let it be a failure because we didn't arrive," Alan added. "We promise we'll all come home safely."

"Let us go… for Dad?" John pleaded. "Let us honour his memory with one last rescue."

"Grandma," Scott said, feeling helpless and hating the sensation. "Father wouldn't want us to give up when we can help."

"Mrs Tracy…" Kyrano stepped forward. "Come with me." He released the elderly lady from Alan's grip, and gently moved her away from the wall.

"Thanks, Kyrano," Scott said with obvious relief, and rotated out of sight.

* * *

Virgil, in Thunderbird Two, was joined by Alan and John. "Everything okay up there?" 

"She practically blamed Brains to his face for Dad's accident, the poor guy." Alan fastened his safety harness. "Kyrano's talking to her. But you're going to be in trouble."

"I know. I'll have to deal with both Grandma and Scott when we get home…" Virgil flicked a switch. "And I guess I'm not in anyone's good books at the moment."

"We understand, Virgil," John said.

"We feel the same," Alan agreed. "But, at the moment, selling the island is the only answer to our problems."

"It's not that I can't see that, it's that I can't bring myself to do it. This place means too much to all of us."

"Well, don't worry about it now," Alan suggested. "None of us can afford to be distracted until we're home again."

Virgil nodded his agreement. "All buckled up?"

"Yep."

Virgil looked over his shoulder. "John?"

John nodded and put his headphones back on his head.

"I thought you were going to leave them at home," Virgil said, but John clearly had them set to block out all extraneous sounds.

"He'll get rid of them once we get to the danger zone," Alan promised.

Virgil rolled his beloved Thunderbird out of her hangar one last time…

_To be continued…_


	5. A Boring Rescue

_From here on I'll be submitting one chapter per day, except for the next two weekends when I'm on holiday._

_Note: The idea for the suction unit and polyplastic bag comes from the 1967 Thunderbirds Annual._

**05 Five: A Boring Rescue**

Thunderbird One swooped down over the danger zone, avoiding the ominous, sickly green cloud which hung low over some of the buildings.

"Looks nasty," Gordon commented.

Scott looked at the anemometer. "Luckily there's no wind. That gas isn't going anywhere." He brought Thunderbird One down to land outside the cordon that surrounded the complex. He turned to Gordon. "What are we going to do with you until Thunderbird Two arrives?"

"I could have travelled with them. The only reason why I agreed to fly with you was to keep an eye on you in case you toppled over and crashed Thunderbird One."

"Don't you start," Scott growled. "I had enough of that rubbish from Virgil."

"Well, look at you!" Gordon protested. "Your uniform's hanging off you. If you lose any more weight we'll be able to put you in a field to scare off crows."

Scott clambered out of his seat. "Just keep your mouth shut and eyes open. I want to know the instant that gas starts moving. You can set up Mobile Control while I get the intell." He opened the hatch and stepped outside to greet one of the local rescue co-ordinators.

Grumbling to himself, Gordon did as he was told.

Scott surveyed the area as he listened to the co-ordinator. They were standing outside a research facility storage area; a collection of buildings, some well maintained, some derelict. In one, litres of chemicals had been stored, supposedly in secure containers. Somehow, and as yet no one had ascertained how, some of the containers had been breached and their contents mixed together. The result was the green gaseous cloud that hung over the buildings.

"Has the surrounding area been cleared?" Scott asked the local.

"Yep. There were some workers in those buildings over there," the local pointed to their right, "but they were evacuated as soon as we knew there was trouble. Those," he pointed to the left, "aren't used anymore. They're waiting for someone to take ownership and remove them."

"So we've only got the two men in the original building to worry about?" Scott clarified.

"That's right. They're in a sealed room. We have the protective clothing to enable us to walk through the building, but if we try to open the room the gas will enter and kill those men within seconds."

Scott nodded. "We have the equipment to circumvent that problem. We've just got to wait for it to arrive."

The local looked relieved. "Good. While you're concentrating on that we'll work on how we're going to deal with the gas that has already escaped."

"We can handle containment too," Scott told him. "Our system will neutralise the gas to a certain extent. We'll leave you to decide how to dispose of it."

The local looked relieved. "Great, I'll go let everyone know." He hurried away.

"Where's Thunderbird Two?" Scott asked Gordon.

Gordon, who had only just manoeuvred Mobile Control into position, shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't had the chance to get in contact."

Scott opened the link. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. Where are you? What's your ETA?"

"Four point two two minutes, Scott," Virgil replied. "What's the action?"

"Firstly I want you to get here A.S.A.P."

On board Thunderbird Two, John had divested himself of his headphones. He looked at Alan and rolled his eyes.

Fortunately for him Scott didn't see him do it. "Then offload Alan and the rescue gear. While he and Gordon go in to rescue the victims, I want you and John to vacuum up the gas into the polyplastic bag. I assume you have it on board?"

Virgil sounded affronted. "Of course we do!"

"Good. John can operate the suction unit. You can take care of that and flying Thunderbird Two. Understood?"

"Understood."

"And try to minimise the air disturbance. We don't want to spread that gas cloud."

"F-A-B."

"Swing around and approach from the south. That'll be safest."

"Right."

"And come in vertically. Minimise the use of the VTOLs."

"Scott…" Virgil complained.

"What?!"

Virgil bit his tongue to stop himself from telling his brother that he would be able to work out what to do himself. "Nothing…"

When Thunderbird Two came in to land, Gordon waited until the pod door had opened before he entered the craft. A short time later he and Alan exited, dressed in their protective haz-mat suits, and with the equipment needed for the operation. Ten minutes after the mighty transporter had landed on the ground, she was in the air again.

"How was the trip?" Alan asked Gordon, as they checked their gear.

"Real barrel of laughs," Gordon grumbled. "If you so much as hint that he might not be fit to fly he blows up in your face."

"You only need to talk to him and he's like that," Alan reminded his brother. "It's his way of grieving. Like you spending all your time in the pool."

"I'm not in the pool now," Gordon reminded him. "If I can leave my problems at home then so can he."

"Does leaving your problems at home include going easy on John and Virgil?"

Gordon huffed. "How come you're managing to keep it together so well?"

"I keep reminding myself that however hard it is for us, it's only a blip on the radar of the universe…"

"Very 'new age' of you."

"Mind you," Alan continued on, "that doesn't stop me wanting to believe that it's a nightmare and that all I need is for someone to pinch me so I'll wake up… Ow!"

"Didn't work, did it?"

Alan rubbed his arm where Gordon had pinched him. "No," he agreed.

He sounded so sad that Gordon felt guilty. He cast his mind about for something to change the subject. "How was your flight?"

Alan sighed. "I thought Virgil might be able to last the rescue without eating anything, but no such luck. Once we'd left the island he produced a couple of bananas from somewhere. I've no idea where he'd hidden them."

"Typical. And John?"

"Just sat there. He put his headphones on and sort of dozed off."

"He's a liability. How's he going to be able to work if he's wearing those headphones?"

"He took them off when we got here…"

There was a shout from Mobile Control. "What's holding you guys up? Get that G-E-V moving!"

Alan waved to Scott to show that he understood. Then he stepped into the cabin of a pod vehicle similar in design to the 'Thunderizer' and the 'Laser Cutter Vehicle', except that the front of the new vehicle was mounted with what appeared to be a large, clear sided box the size of a walk-in wardrobe. This vehicle had been christened with the unglamorous, but utilitarian name of 'Gas Evacuation Vehicle'.

Gordon squeezed in alongside his brother. "Let's get going before he blows a fuse."

"All set?"

"Yep."

Alan set the little G-E-V into action, driving forward through the gates of the cordon and into the warehouse complex. As they ventured further, closer to the danger zone they could see the cloud of green gas. Above it, made even more verdant by the green filter, hung Thunderbird Two, a long, thick hose snaking out of her underbelly.

"Got a bearing on the door to the warehouse?" Gordon asked.

"Yes. It's down one of these side alleys…"

Up in Thunderbird Two, Virgil and John looked down through that same green filter onto what appeared to be a surreal landscape.

"There's Gordon and Alan," Virgil commented.

John nodded.

Virgil looked at him. "Are you going to wear those headphones all through this rescue?"

"I can hear you." John shifted position so that he was standing by the controls of the suction unit.

"You know what Scott would say if he could see you wearing them."

"He can't see me."

Virgil sighed. "Ready?"

John nodded.

Scott was sounding angry. "What's the hold up, Thunderbird Two?"

"We're ready, Mobile Control," Virgil responded.

"Then stop mucking about and get on with it."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "If this is going to be our last mission he could at least be both civil and professional," he complained.

John silently agreed as he pushed a button on the suction unit's console.

A green light showed up on Mobile Control, letting Scott know that the unit was in action. "About time," he muttered.

"Problems?" the local controller asked.

"No. Nothing we can't handle," Scott informed him. "Have you got the frequency so I can reach our victims?"

"Here." The local handed over a piece of paper.

In a short time Scott was in communication with the two men trapped inside the warehouse. "This is International Rescue."

"International Rescue?!" The person on the other end of the radio link sounded impressed, but not relieved. "Wow! They have pulled out all the stops."

"Are you both all right?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, no worries. We've just made ourselves a coffee and were going to sit down and go through some of our papers. We're not in any immediate danger, so you can tell your colleagues not to take any unnecessary risks. We're quite comfortable."

"Thanks for that," Scott replied. "I'll pass it on. But don't get too comfortable, we'll have you out in no time."

"Okay. We'll look forward to it."

Scott sat back and frowned. As always situations like this, he was relieved that the victims were both safe, well, and appeared to be in good spirits. But this time the relief was tainted with the feeling that somehow International Rescue were being cheated out of the swansong they deserved. There should be flames raging, winds roaring, people panicking, TV crews fighting to get what footage they could and complaining that they couldn't film the best bits… There should be impossible situations, unattainable goals, and impractical solutions … Something he could get his teeth into. Something that required him to be on peak form, pulling the answers out of a hat… Not a heavy green cloud of gas, slowly and surely being sucked up into Thunderbird Two's underbelly and a couple of scientists going about their work while they waited to be rescued.

Still, he reflected, maybe it was just as well that this rescue was so straightforward. He wasn't at the top of his game. None of them were. And he knew he should be worried about that…

---F-A-B---

As the G-E-V trundled down between the various research facilities and warehouses, Gordon and Alan found themselves feeling distinctly under-whelmed at the prospect of carrying out the rescue. "You know?" Alan began. "I always imagined that International Rescue's final mission would be something spectacular… Like having to rescue some scientists from a stricken space station that has been hit by an asteroid and is falling out of orbit. Something to capture the world's imagination and leave them talking about us for years afterwards."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Or the World President is trapped on a sunken cruise ship that is taking on water, and we're the only ones who can save her…" He looked outside at the gloomy buildings. "Instead what do we have? Two guys that aren't in any real danger as long as they don't try to leave their office."

---F-A-B---

A one-sided version of the same conversation was taking place onboard Thunderbird Two. "I never thought our final mission would be so dull, did you, John?" Virgil asked.

John shook his head.

"I always imagined that our final rescue would be something memorable… Like rescuing a group of climbers from the boiling crater of a volcano and flying them out of there only seconds before it blows…"

John nodded.

"And all we're doing is sitting here like a giant vacuum cleaner."

John nodded.

"Being bored."

John nodded again.

His brother's continuing silence finally got on Virgil's nerves. "For Pete's sake, John! Will you say something?"

"What?" John looked at Virgil and there was something accusatory in his expression.

Virgil sighed. "I'm sorry. I know. I should take care of myself before I start hassling anyone else, shouldn't I?"

"Yes."

"We're all falling apart, aren't we?" Virgil looked down at the bag of nuts and raisins he was currently holding. "I mean, where did these come from?" He lifted the bag higher so his brother could see them clearly. "I don't remember taking them from the pantry… I don't even remember taking them out of my pocket…" He patted his thigh, found something there and pulled it out. "Want a chocolate, John?"

"No."

Without thinking, Virgil unwrapped the candy bar and began eating. He'd finished it before he realised what he was doing. "Look at me!" He screwed up the wrapper and threw it down in disgust.

"Move two degrees to starboard," John instructed.

"Two degrees…" Virgil, using his instinctive control of the big Thunderbird, shifted it her few metres to the right. "Better?"

John nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Can you keep a secret, John?" Virgil eventually asked. "I know. Stupid question… But promise me you won't tell anyone else?"

John nodded.

"The real reason why I wanted to get out of the lounge before anyone else was to see if my uniform still fitted."

John raised an eyebrow in query.

"The top's okay… a bit snug maybe, but at least I can move in it."

A wry grin creased John's face as he cocked his head, waiting to hear if there was more.

"But I had to borrow Scott's spare pair of trousers. I've got half a mile of trouser leg tucked into my boot!"

John burst out laughing.

"Don't laugh. He's probably wearing yours."

John stopped laughing.

---F-A-B---

"What are we going to do about the sale of the island?" Gordon asked. "Virgil's going to put us into more debt if he refuses to sell."

"Under normal circumstances I'd say that all we'd have to do to change his mind is get Scott to talk to him…"

"Except that this time," Gordon interrupted, "Scott's not gonna talk. Snarl maybe, but not talk. He hasn't forgotten Virgil's insubordination."

"Is that what you call it? I called it common-sense."

"True…" grudgingly Gordon had to agree with him. "...Especially since I'm the one flying with him in Thunderbird One. But you won't get Scott to see that. And once he's finished tearing Virgil to shreds, Grandma's going to get stuck in to the leftovers."

Alan agreed. "He doesn't do things by halves, does he? Maybe one of us should get injured to take the heat off him?"

Gordon's snort showed that he didn't think much of that idea.

The G-E-V had reached the warehouse. Alan swung the little machine around so it was facing the open door and sent it trundling inside.

The interior was dark. What little light was available from the light bulbs that hung high in the ceiling was largely obscured by the green fog that swirled around them.

Gordon was staring at a radar screen. The needle swung around a full 360 degrees and a dot of light showed their objective to be somewhere to their right. "That way," he pointed.

---F-A-B---

Virgil and John were concentrating on a screen as well. Since the gas was heavier than air, John had dropped the tube down so it was nearly touching the ground. He had little to do except watch the green haze disappear up the piping.

Virgil, similarly occupied, pulled out a packet. "Cracker?" he offered.

John shook his head and Virgil popped a couple into his mouth.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two."

Virgil nearly choked. "Go ahead, Scott."

"What are you doing?"

"John and I are enjoying a stimulating conversation."

"Don't get smart with me. Are you eating?"

Virgil swallowed and hid the packet of crackers from the video camera. "Of course not."

"Just remember that's a Thunderbird, not a restaurant you're in control of," Scott stared his brother down. "Don't think I haven't forgotten what happened before, Virgil. You're already skating on thin ice."

Virgil ignored the threat. "What do you want?"

"I'm checking on progress."

Virgil looked at John who gave a thumbs-up. "Both filters are working well. By the time that gas reaches the inside of the polyplastic bag it's practically harmless."

"Well just remember that it's not. We can't afford any slip-ups just because this rescue seems easy. There's a lot at stake here. A lot of lives could be affected if so much as a microlitre of that gas makes it to a populated area."

"We're aware of that, Scott!"

"Don't let our last rescue be a failure."

"We won't!"

"Good! Because I'll be watching you!" Scott ceased transmission.

Virgil scowled at the blank screen. "Know what I would like to do, John?"

He didn't see John shake his head.

"When the time comes to destroy Thunderbird One, I want to be the one to push the button!"

Shocked, John stared at him.

---F-A-B---

Back on Tracy Island, Brains was sitting at Jeff Tracy's desk, though he was painfully aware that Grandma did not approve. She would bustle into the room, pick things off the desk, place them on a coffee table and, ignoring the engineer, polish the wooden top. Then, without replacing the desk's contents, except those that had belonged to Jeff, she'd bustle out again. Only to return with plates of goodies which were offered to Tin-Tin and Kyrano, but not Brains. Her next visit was to bring coffee, but none was offered to the mortified scientist.

"I'll get you something, Brains," Tin-Tin offered.

He shook his head; his face long and despondent. "N-N-No, thank y-y…"

The computer beeped, telling him that an email had arrived. Checking the subject column, Brains found that the email was addressed to him.

He rang the A.A.I. "Y-You wanted to talk to me?"

The Air Accident Inspector seemed on edge. "Yes… Look this is a highly irregular request, but this plane you've built is unlike anything we've come across before. To make matters worse it's so badly damaged…" Tin-Tin started crying and was comforted by her father, "… that we're finding it difficult to work out which part is which. There're some components that appear to have no bearing on your plans whatsoever. So… We need your help. Is that offer to come and observe still open?"

Brains nodded, feeling that at last he was going to be given the opportunity to do something constructive. At last he would be able to do something for Jeff Tracy and his family.

"Good. Ah… When can you get here?"

"Wh-When do you need me?"

"The sooner the better. A lot of people are demanding the answers to this one."

Brains thought. He couldn't leave his post while International Rescue were on duty, but his need to find out what went wrong was so strong it hurt. "I-I should be able to leave l-later today. I'll be in K-Kansas tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll arrange to have someone meet you at the airport," the A.A.I. offered. "See you then, Mr Hackenbacker."

Brains blinked at the unaccustomed name. "Oh, ah, yes. See you t-tomorrow." He hung up the videophone and then called Mobile Control. "Do you h-have a moment, Scott."

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "Nothing much is happening."

"The A.A.I. needs my help. Ah, I t-told them I'd leave today. W-Will that be possible?"

"They need you? I thought they didn't want you near the plane."

"It d-departs too much from a s-standard jet," Brains told him. "I-I was thinking of leaving when the resc-cue is over… I-If that's all right w-with you?"

Scott gave him a tired, humourless smile. "If you can help solve this mystery, Brains, we'll all appreciate it."

"I-I'll do my best."

"I'll call you when we're packing up… And Brains," Scott leant forward. "I still can't believe that you had anything to do with it."

Brains managed a smile. "Th-Thank you, Scott. That means a l-lot."

---F-A-B---

Virgil, having run out of food, was whistling. He stopped. "I suppose they checked all the surrounding buildings…" He brought up the onboard computer and punched some numbers into it. "Let's do a scan…"

---F-A-B---

Scott was feeling jaded, although he wasn't prepared to let anyone, especially his brothers, know the fact. He started when Mobile Control beeped at him. "Go on, Thunderbird Two."

"Scott? Didn't you say that they'd checked all the buildings inside the cordon?"

Scott didn't appreciate the perceived innuendo. "You heard me."

"I've run a scan and I've got four, possibly five people about half a kilometre from the danger zone."

Scott sat upright. "Anywhere near the gas?"

"Negative. But it would pay to check it out."

Scott frowned in thought. "Okay, Virg… Thanks…" He remembered himself. "I mean. Affirmative, Thunderbird Two. I'll dispatch Alan and Gordon while you're offloading the gas."

"F-A-B." Virgil turned back to John. "He was almost human for a moment there."

---F-A-B---

Alan and Gordon had reached the doorway leading to the office that held the two scientists. Taking care to ensure that the box at the front of the G-E-V was lined up with the door Alan pressed it up against the wall.

"Contact," Gordon said, pushing a button.

A silicon gel oozed out of the edges of the G-E-V's box creating a seal between it and the wall. A motor hummed into life draining all traces of gas from the box's interior.

Alan watched as a row of lights flashed up green. "Seal complete. No complications there."

"So no dramas then," Gordon said as he sidled past Alan and opened the dividing panel.

"Just as well. I don't want any while we're dealing with our victims."

Gordon walked up to the door to the office and pressed a touch plate. The door hissed open revealing the two scientists reclining back, coffee mugs in their hands. "Hi, guys. Ready to go?"

At once the two men were on their feet. "I'll say!" said one. "We're missing the big game. The radio transmission in here's terrible!"

Gordon directed them into the G-E-V and shut the door. Then he ensured that the opening to the G-E-V's box was sealed tight. "Okay, Alan," he grunted.

Alan watched the green lights wink off as the seal against the wall was dissolved. "Okay, people. Let's get out of here." He backed the G-E-V up and swung it around.

A short time later they were out in the bright sunlight. "We're clear, Thunderbird Two," Alan announced. "Increase suction."

Virgil responded with a F-A-B as John increased the power to the suction unit.

Virgil looked at the video monitor. "Apart from that office it's an open plan warehouse," he said. "Want me to move Thunderbird Two so you can suck out the interior?"

"'Kay," John nodded and raised the articulated hose so it wasn't dragging on the ground. When he could see that the Thunderbird was in position he lowered the hose again, moving the nozzle so it was pointing inside the building.

---F-A-B---

The G-E-V trundled out of the cordoned area. Its doors opened and the two scientists stepped out to be greeted by their friends, families and colleagues. After thanking their rescuers, they were led away.

Alan and Gordon walked over to Scott.

"So that's that, then," Gordon said. "International Rescue is finished."

"Nearly," Scott told him. "Virgil's picked up signs of life in some of the 'deserted' warehouses. I want you two to check it out while Thunderbird Two finishes clearing the area and starts packing away."

Alan pulled the hood of his haz-mat suit back over his head. "F-A-B."

Scott returned to Mobile Control and radioed home. Brains answered immediately. "Y-Yes, Scott."

"We've completed the rescue successfully. Alan and Gordon have gone to check something out and Virgil and John have nearly finished securing the area. You can leave when you're ready."

"Are you sh-sure? I can wait."

"No. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can find the answers we need. Call me when you reach Kansas."

"F-A-B, Scott."

---F-A-B---

Gordon and Alan had divided the warehouses to be searched between them, and Alan wandered, without enthusiasm, down his share of the alleys, scanning the surrounding area with his portable victim locator. He came to an intersection and stared at what appeared to be a never-ending street, bordered with a never-ending row of industrial buildings. He raised his microphone. "Found anything yet, Gordon?"

"Negative. I've only just got to my search zone. This place goes on for miles!"

"Tell me about it," Alan agreed. "It's a rabbit warren."

"I was thinking a maze, but either metaphor will do… Have you found anything yet, Alan?"

"No. I'll try down here. I'll call you if I find anything."

"F-A-B."

Alan strode down two blocks of warehouses, still scanning with his victim locator. He was almost surprised when it registered something. Treading carefully he moved forward and watched as the signal grew stronger.

He walked past another alley and found himself outside an especially decrepit building. He found it hard to believe that anyone would willingly go into this hole, but the signal was definitely coming from its interior. He pulled the door open and slipped inside.

There was no artificial light in the foyer to the building, but there was enough light from the door to tell him that rather than an open plan building, this one comprised of a number of rooms. It was probably this framework that kept the roof supported.

"Hello," he called. "Is there anyone here?"

He was still getting an affirmative response from his victim locator, but apart from that there was no sign of life.

He walked down the hallway. Many of the doors to the rooms leading off the passage were missing and he only glanced inside as he walked past. "Hello?" he called again.

He came to an intact door and with care pulled it open. He was surprised to discover that where he'd expected darkness a light bulb was shining in the hallway.

Mystified he moved forward. Most of the doors leading off here were solid wood and locked.

At the end of the passage he came to a heavy door, locked and bolted, but with a glass panel installed in the top section. As he looked through the glass he saw a pale figure.

The figure looked up.

Alan did a double take, his heart thumping against his chest. He pushed the hood of his haz-mat suit off his head in an effort to see more clearly. In the artificial light of the room, and through the grimy glass the figure had taken on the appearance of a ghostly apparition.

Alan couldn't believe his eyes.

The figure saw him and hobbled over to the window. It gestured wildly, trying to make Alan comprehend something.

Alan's confused mind didn't understand. Nor did he hear the steps coming up behind him. It wasn't until something heavy came crashing down that he even knew that anyone was there.

The room's occupant was helpless as the guard struck Alan over his head and the young man sank bonelessly to the ground.

The figure watched in horror and fear…

Fear for the health of his youngest son…

_To be continued…_


	6. Alive?

**06 Six: Alive?**

"All packed away?" Scott asked his brothers when they'd reached Mobile Control.

John and Virgil nodded. "We're ready to leave whenever you are," Virgil added. "Have you heard from Alan and Gordon yet?"

Scott shook his head. "No. Not yet…"

John nudged Virgil and pointed.

A haz-mat suit clad figure stepped through the cordon and into the safe area. The hood was pushed back revealing a head of straw-textured auburn hair.

"Find anything, Gordon?" Scott asked.

Gordon shook his head. "No. Like the local guy said the place is deserted." He looked at Virgil. "Maybe Thunderbird Two's scanners aren't working properly."

"They are working perfectly!" Virgil said in indignation. "There're definitely people in a building somewhere inside the cordon."

Scott held up his hand to prevent an argument. "Maybe Alan's found them. I'll give him a call…"

---F-A-B---

"We've had a bit of excitement here, Abe," the man said. He was tall and casually dressed, with a face that only his mother could love. Several scars spoke of untold, unspeakable stories in his life; and one of them twisted his mouth out of shape, mangling his words. Behind him, looking equally reprehensible, were two of his henchmen.

'Abe' looked at him from the videophone screen. "What do you mean 'excitement', Miles?"

"One of the warehouses around here has sprung some kind of gas leak. They've evacuated all the other buildings, but we laid low until it was clear."

"What kind of gas leak?" Abe asked.

"Dunno. But the gas was green. It must have been serious, they called in International Rescue."

Abe had the same reaction that a lot of people did when they heard the organisation's name. "International Rescue!"

"Yeah. One of their guys was snooping around. I guess he was checking if there was anyone else who needed rescuing."

"Did he see anything?"

"Yeah he did," Miles rubbed his fist into his hand. "He'll be lucky if he remembers it though." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wristwatch. "I got a souvenir," he grinned. The watch beeped and he examined it. "Must be an alarm."

Abe looked startled. "What if it's a homing device?"

Miles clearly hadn't considered that idea. "I'll chuck it in the river. Then they can waste their time dragging it for their pal."

Abe looked even more alarmed than before. "What did you do to him?"

"Just gave him a little love tap on the back of the head. When he wakes up he's gonna have a headache the size of Mount McKinley."

Abe amended his original question. "What did you do with him?"

"Put him in the most secure place we've got. He's in with our other 'guest'."

"You did what! Don't you realise that his colleagues will be looking for him? And where he was searching is the first place where they'll look!"

"So?" Miles cracked his knuckles. "We can take 'em on."

"Miles…" Abe was trying to be patient. "We're not talking about some school kid playing truant. This is International Rescue. When he doesn't report back they'll have every member of the sheriff's department out looking for him! Not to mention the FBI, the CIA and the World Police."

"So, what do you want me to do with him?"

"Let him go, Miles."

"Let him go? But what if he's seen…"

"Who's going to believe him? You say you've knocked him out. Any memories are going to be put down to a concussion or something. Just tell whomever you hand him over to that one of the walls collapsed on him. There's enough falling masonry in that place that no one's going to think twice about it."

"And if he says what he's seen?"

"Like I said who's going to believe him? Everyone knows what International Rescue's last rescue was…"

---F-A-B---

Alan's head hurt. It was pounding so much that his eyes throbbed. He decided the best idea was to keep them shut. He groaned as he continued to regain consciousness and reached towards the back of his head to where the pain seemed to be most intense.

"No," a familiar voice said gently. "Leave it. You'll make it worse." His hand was guided away from the injury.

Alan froze. The voice was one that he would have given the world to hear, but, perversely, hearing it filled him with dread.

He tried to articulate his horror, and succeeded in exhaling a whimper.

"Lie still," the voice instructed. "If you move, the bandage will probably fall off."

Alan felt along his left trouser leg to the concealed pocket that contained a basic first aid kit. The pocket was open. He fought to make sense of what was happening.

The voice continued speaking. "That's the problem with head wounds; your hair gets in the way. I'll probably have to trim it if it doesn't stop bleeding soon." There was a pause. "Can you hear me, Alan?"

Alan groaned and managed to speak. "I'm dead."

"No you're not. But you are injured, so lay still, Son."

"I must be dead."

"Don't say that, Alan. You'll be okay." There was a pleading note in the other's voice.

Alan forced himself to open his eyes. Two bare incandescent light bulbs hung low from the ceiling, casting the other man into silhouette. Alan blinked against the bright lights as through a haze his eyes tried to focus. "If I'm not dead, I'm dreaming…" Once again he raised his hand to where his head hurt most of all.

"Don't touch it," the other man instructed, as he reached out and once again grasped Alan's wrist.

The touch shocked the life back into Alan. He gave a yell and rolled away from the other person, ending up pressed against the wall.

"Alan?" Worried eyes were boring into him.

"You're dead!"

"What?"

"You're a hallucination," Alan insisted. "I'm must be hallucinating!"

"Alan! You're badly hurt. Please calm down." The figure reached out and Alan shrank back. The figure retracted its hand and shifted awkwardly, giving a grimace that may have been a reaction to pain.

Alan stared at the other figure. "No. You're dead! Everyone knows that my father is dead," he whimpered.

"Alan," Jeff stated, "I'm not dead. Why do you keep saying that?"

Alan tried to sit up, his eyes not leaving the ghost of his father. "The plane crash… John found your registration number… The forensics proved it… Everyone knows… It's in all the papers and on the news…"

"What?" Jeff frowned. "What's in the news?"

"We're having to give up… to sell the island…"

"Alan! What are you talking about?" Jeff was sounding more alarmed than before. "Give up what?"

Alan took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and tried to get his emotions and a feeling of nausea under control. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming." He opened his eyes and fixed the apparition of his father with a pleading stare.

"Alan, none of what you've said makes any sense. Help me to help you." Jeff reached out again and this time Alan let him touch him. "I wish I could make this pad stick better… I know." He pulled his own shirt tail out. "Can I borrow your knife?"

"My knife?"

"Do you want me to get it out of your pocket?" Jeff asked.

"No…" Still staring at his 'father', Alan reached into another concealed pocket and withdrew a knife.

"Lucky they don't know about your pockets," Jeff said, as he cut a length of material from his shirttail. "I see they've taken your watch." He slipped the knife into his own pocket before hesitating. "Will you let me bandage your head?"

Alan nodded, and then wished he hadn't. "You are alive?" He sounded disbelieving as his father wrapped the cloth around his head.

Jeff sat back. "Yes, Alan. I am alive."

"And you're my father?" Alan asked.

Jeff looked him in the eye. "Who else would I be?"

"A trap," Alan hazarded. "A trap to make me tell you about us."

Jeff had done all he could with the meagre materials he had. He tried to get comfortable and grimaced again. He looked back at Alan. "How can I convince you that I am me?"

"Tell me something that only I'd know about."

"Like what?" Jeff thought for a moment. "Okay… How about this? When you were little you wrote Tin-Tin a poem and you wondered if I thought she'd like it. I believe that, apart from Tin-Tin, I was the only person you showed it to…" He chuckled. "If I remember correctly one bit went, _'I think you are pretty, Tin-Tin. I like the way you look in your skin.'_"

Alan nodded. "It was terrible!"

"I thought it was quite good for a seven-year-old boy declaring his affection for a seven-year-old girl." Jeff took Alan's hand and placed it against his face. "See, Alan. It is me."

"You need a shave."

Jeff chuckled. "They haven't been game enough to leave me a razor."

Alan reached his other hand out to his father. "I can't believe that you're alive." He turned so that he could see Jeff better and his injured head rolled against the wall. He flinched, and sucked in a breath.

"Easy," Jeff said in concern. "Here, I'll sit on your other side." With an effort he got to his feet and hobbled around to Alan's left.

"You're hurt!" Alan exclaimed, when he saw blood on his father's torn trouser leg.

"I'm okay." Jeff brushed aside his son's concerns and sat down in the straw that had been his bedding for the last three nights. He put his arm about Alan's shoulders. "Tell me everything that's happened."

To Alan it was as if he'd slipped back in time to his childhood. His Dad would always hold him like that when he had grazed his knee or had felt ill. He relaxed against his father's shoulder as he had used to all those years ago.

"Why did you think I was dead, Alan?" Jeff prompted gently.

"Your plane crashed… Into a mall… People were killed… We thought you were too."

"People killed?! How many?"

"Ah… Thirty…" Alan struggled with the memory, "…six at the last count, if I remember correctly. No, hang on. That included you… except you weren't in the plane… So who was piloting? Who was in the jet?"

"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "They knocked me out when they grabbed me." He managed a dry chuckle. "Being kidnapped capped off a bad day."

"You changed your will…"

"Yes, I did. How'd you know?" Jeff realised that his 'death' would have prompted that will's reading. "Ah, of course."

"Why didn't you tell us, Dad?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you're broke. That you're in debt. We could have helped. We could have made savings. We could have cut back…"

"Alan? What are you talking about?"

"We all know," Alan continued on a little incoherently. "We're falling apart…"

"Alan?"

Alan started gabbling. "Scott's not eating, and Virgil's eating too much. Gordon's not talking to John and Virgil, and John's not talking to anyone. Grandma blames Brains and Tin-Tin keeps crying…"

"Alan, Alan! Stop, take a deep breath and start at the beginning," Jeff ordered. "I am not broke. I have never been in a stronger financial position!"

Alan looked at him in disbelief. "It can't be you."

"It is me, Alan," Jeff pulled him closer. "Please believe that it is me. I am alive…"

The door to their prison was pulled open. Miles stood there, revulsion on his face as he looked at the two men sitting close together. "What are you doing!?" His two henchmen sidled past him into the room.

Jeff got to his feet and hobbled forward so he was a shield for his son. "You leave him alone!"

"And leave him for you?" Miles pushed Jeff away and moved on Alan who was fighting the pain and nausea as he struggled to get to his feet.

"No!" Jeff managed to maintain his balance and grabbed at Miles' arm. "Don't hurt him!"

"Don't touch me!" Miles swung his fist into Jeff's face.

Stunned, Jeff was slammed against the wall by the force of the punch and slid to the ground. By the time he'd regained focus Alan was already hanging limply between the two henchmen and was being carried out the door.

Using the wall as support, Jeff inched his way upright. "What are you going to do with him?"

"It's none of your business," Miles snarled. "But I can guarantee that it's not what you had in mind… You're sick," he sneered, before he pulled the door shut, leaving Jeff alone in his cell.

Jeff hobbled to the door and peered through the glass partition. He watched as Alan was dropped without ceremony onto an old door that was going to be his stretcher. Grabbing the corners of the plank, the two henchmen picked him up.

Miles turned back to Jeff and sneered again, before his face changed to horror and he looked down at his knuckles.

Jeff watched as his son was carried through the door at the far end of the hall. He rubbed his face and realised that it was wet. There was blood on his hand…

---F-A-B---

"Alan should have reported in by now," Scott said as he frowned at Mobile Control.

"Maybe he's found them," Virgil suggested. "He's probably trying to convince them to leave." He was nudged by John. "What?"

John pointed towards the cordon entrance. Three men were there, two of them carrying something between them. A haz-mat suited arm was visible, flapping limply and dragging along the ground.

"John! Get the stretcher," Scott ordered. "Gordon! See if the paramedics have left yet."

With a, "F-A-B," both brothers set off at a run.

Scott and Virgil hurried over to meet the four men.

"What happened?" Scott asked, as he bent over Alan.

"D-Dad…" Alan moaned.

A pained look crossed Scott's face. "No, I'm not Dad."

"We found him in one of the warehouses," the big man supplied. "It looked as though one of the walls fell on him."

Virgil was checking his injured brother over. "I can only find a head injury."

"D-Dad…" Alan gasped out again.

John ran over, carrying the stretcher. He placed it so it was parallel to Alan's plank of wood.

"Lie still," Scott instructed. "We'll soon get you comfortable."

"As you fellows seem to have everything under control, we'll leave you to it," the big man offered. He held out Alan's watch. "We found this."

Taking the watch, Scott looked at him with gratitude and tried not to be repulsed by the man's scarred face. "Thank you."

"It's an honour to be able to help International Rescue," the big man told the Tracys, before he and Alan's other two 'rescuers' slipped away.

Alan grabbed his eldest brother by the loose material on the front of his shirt and, using all his strength, pulled him close so that he could tell him the news. "Scott… Dad… Alive…"

"No, Alan," Scott said as gently as he could. "Dad's dead… Remember?"

"No…" Alan found himself transferred to the stretcher. "Dad…"

A paramedic had arrived. "What happened?"

"Blow to the head from what we understand," Scott informed them. "He seems slightly confused."

"Okay, leave him with us. We'll take care of him…"

_To be continued…_


	7. Headache

**07 Seven: Headache**

"You promised me that none of you would get hurt!" Grandma withered Scott with an accusatory glare. "I let you all go because you promised me that! And what happens?"

"I know," Scott admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?!"

Scott was on the defensive. "He didn't get hurt doing the rescue. It was afterwards when he was checking the area was clear!"

Her frown told him that he wasn't off the hook. "How long before Thunderbird Two gets home?"

Scott looked at his watch. "They left slightly before us, right, John?"

John, who'd co-piloted Scott on the return flight, nodded.

Scott did a quick calculation. "They should be back in about 12 minutes."

"I want to talk to Gordon!"

"Grandma," Scott protested. "They'll be home soon. The medic said that the injury isn't serious and that all Alan needs is rest. So let him rest!"

"Scott!" Grandma Tracy folded her arms and glared at her eldest grandson. "I want to talk to Gordon now!"

Scott offered a compromise. "How about we call Virgil and find out his E.T.A.?"

It was not what Grandma wanted but she allowed him to put through the call.

"Thunderbird Two," Virgil announced. "What can I do for you, Scott?"

"What's your E.T.A.?"

Virgil did a calculation of his own. "Ten point seven five minutes."

"How's Alan?"

"Why are you asking me?" Virgil sounded aggrieved. "You told Gordon to ride with Alan because he was able to talk to him. What you've forgotten is that he refuses to talk to me. He won't give me an update."

Scott felt his grandmother's eyes boring into the back of his head and sighed. "Put me through to the sickbay." He heard the click that told him that the transfer had been made, but no one acknowledged the call. "Gordon, answer the radio!" he demanded.

"Hi, Scott. I didn't realise it was you."

"What's the big idea of not updating Virgil on Alan's condition?"

"I thought he should be concentrating on getting us home quick."

"Gordon!"

Grandma had heard enough. She pushed Scott away from the microphone. "You listen to me, Gordon Tracy! How is that brother of yours?"

Upon hearing her voice, Gordon's tone softened. "He's okay, Grandma. He's slept all the way."

"Good. I've got his room ready. Take him there as soon as you get home…"

---F-A-B---

Jeff sat on his bed of straw and thought, which wasn't easy with his sore face and the pain shooting through his leg. But at least his nose seemed to have stopped bleeding.

Up until now Jeff had been worried. He been worried for his own safety and he'd been worried about what his family was going through as they wondered what had happened to him.

Now he was more than worried.

Jeff Tracy was frightened.

He was frightened for Alan. What had those men done with him?

He was frightened for the rest of his family. What was it that Alan had said? They believed that Jeff was bankrupt? They believed they had to shut down International Rescue? They believed they had to sell Tracy Island?

For the last three days Jeff been trapped in this windowless prison, more or less alone. Occasionally someone would appear at the door, check he was clear of the entrance, open the door, throw in some food, and then slam the door shut again. Or else a video camera was pointed in his direction through the grimy glass panel. That was okay. As long as they stayed on that side of the door and Jeff stayed on this, there was a good chance that nothing untoward would happen to him.

Time and time again, Jeff had wondered why they'd kidnapped him. They'd said little and told him nothing. All that Jeff knew was that the fact that his captors weren't making any effort to conceal their identities, which told him that when they'd finished with him, they weren't planning on letting him leave here alive.

And then Alan had accidentally stumbled upon him in his cell. Alan had told him that the family believed that they were bankrupt and that they were going to have to sell the island. Was that the motive? How much of what Alan had said was true and how much was the product of a confused mind? A mind belonging to a bewildered, scared, wounded young man who'd suddenly discovered the 'ghost' of his father.

If it was true, who had put that idea into their heads? Alan had mentioned the latest will, but Jeff, having drawn up that will only days ago, knew that there was nothing in there to cause his family such distress. Unless…

Jeff was now sure he knew who was behind the whole plot.

Why had Alan said that they'd read the will? Because Jeff's plane had crashed into a mall… People had been killed.

Killed!

Jeff felt physically sick. That he could have been responsible for the death of innocent people, no matter how indirectly…

He took a deep breath to steady his stomach.

"Think, Tracy, think," he told himself out loud.

It was so hard to think through the pain…

He reached into his pocket and withdrew some of the items he'd taken from Alan before his son had been dragged away. Most of the first aid materials he'd used to bandage the wound in his leg. He hadn't liked the look of it. It was probably infected.

He was left with the knife and some painkillers. He considered taking one of the analgesics, but decided against it, reasoning that there might be a time later when it would be necessary to numb the pain.

Later? What was going to happen to him? Thinking logically, Alan, as a member of International Rescue, had been searching this building for some reason. If he didn't return and was unable to be contacted, Scott would organise a search party. Soon members of International Rescue, and possibly other emergency services, would be combing the area. Rescue might be at hand!

One of Jeff's business strengths was being able to think from his opponent's point of view and he applied that skill now. Supposing his kidnappers had realised that before long people would be looking for Alan? What would they do then to direct attention away from this building? Cause a disaster to occur elsewhere that would create a diversion while they spirited their captives away? The problem with that scenario was how did you manufacture a disaster big enough to occupy International Rescue's time?

Fly a plane into a mall.

Jeff felt sick again.

Another, simpler, obvious answer was to take Alan somewhere where he could be found before they reached Jeff's prison. That could explain why the young man had been taken away.

The thought relieved Jeff's anxieties somewhat. Then he thought of Alan trying to tell his family that their father was trapped in this building… And his family not believing him because of Alan's head injury… Not when Jeff was clearly dead. All the reports said so.

And what if Alan was not able to tell anyone anything? The phrase 'dead men tell no tales' reared its unpleasant head.

Jeff felt his stomach twist into knots again.

Whatever had happened to Alan, Jeff was pretty sure that the guards who'd been holding him captive these last three days would not want to remain here much longer. Not if there was any chance of being discovered.

Jeff could see only one course of action open to him.

Reluctantly he put his hands to his throat…

---F-A-B---

"We did what you asked, Abe," Miles said. He gave a grin. "Would you believe those International Rescue guys actually thanked us for looking after their friend?" He laughed and the sound was harsh in the barren room.

"So no one asked any questions?"

"Nah. They were all too busy seeing how badly I… I mean 'the wall'… had hurt him."

"Was he conscious when you handed him over?"

"We'd given him some of that stuff we gave Tracy when we'd nabbed him. They thought he was babbling and that he was away with the fairies… instead of being rescued from one."

"Good." Abe visibly relaxed.

"The guy was lucky we shifted him when we did..."

But Abe wasn't listening. "I think it could be prudent to move on. I assume you have another safe area you can take Tracy?"

"Sure, we've got tons. 'The Boss' likes to 'be prepared'... He tells me he was a Boy Scout." Miles laughed again…

* * *

Alan's head hurt. It was pounding so much that his eyes throbbed. He decided the best idea was to keep them shut. 

He groaned as he continued to regain consciousness and reached towards the back of his head to where the pain seemed to be most intense.

"No," a familiar voice said gently. "Leave it. You'll make it worse." His hand was guided away from the injury and tucked under a blanket.

Something was wrong. That wasn't his father's voice or touch. Someone else was helping him…

Alan opened his eyes.

His Grandma smiled down at him. "Hello, Darling. How are you feeling?"

"Grandma? Where's Dad?"

Her smile vanished. "Honey…? Your father is no longer with us."

"But I was with Dad," Alan told her.

She pasted another, more uncertain, smile on her face as she brushed a finger on his cheek. "You were dreaming, Alan."

"No… No, I wasn't. He's alive. Didn't Scott tell you?"

Grandma sat back in her chair and regarded her grandson. Alan wasn't sure but he thought he could see tears in her eyes.

Scott entered the room. "How is he?" he whispered.

"Scott… Did…"

"Hiya, Kiddo. How are you feeling?"

"Scott! You went back for Dad, didn't you?"

"I wasn't there when he died, Alan. Remember? I was at home. You were on Thunderbird Five…"

"No, not then… Just now… When I was hurt…"

Scott frowned. "I don't understand."

"I told you I saw him. Didn't you go and rescue him?"

He saw Scott glance at his grandmother. "You were dreaming, Alan."

"No," Alan shook his head frantically and wished he hadn't as it began to ache even more. "I was talking to him. He touched me. I touched him! He put the bandage on my head! He's alive, Scott!"

"Whoa, Alan. Calm down. You'll hurt yourself even more if you don't relax!" Scott placed a reassuring hand on Alan's shoulder.

"Didn't you even go and look?"

"There was nothing to look for…"

"Dad was in there!"

"He can't have been…"

"He's been hurt…"

"Yes, Alan, he was hurt. But he's not hurting now…"

"No… It's a trick!"

"A trick?"

"The plane crash…

"How can a plane crash be a trick?"

"…The will… Everything?"

"Alan…?"

"Dad's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped? Look, Alan…!"

"One of his guards saw me and hit me on the head!"

"No! It was a…!"

"Scott!" Grandma Tracy reprimanded him.

"What?" he asked, bewildered by what Alan had been saying and his grandmother's tone.

"You're upsetting him! I think you'd better leave!"

Scott looked at his grandmother, and then back at his brother. Alan's expression was both fearful and accusatory. He also looked tired. "Rest, Kid. You'll feel better soon."

"Scott's right," Grandma agreed as she pulled the blanket up and tucked it under Alan's chin. "Go back to sleep and everything will be all right."

Alan was fighting the residue of the anaesthetic that the goons had doped him with. "I don' wanna sleep. Gotta find Dad…"

Scott stepped outside Alan's room and into a scrum of brothers.

"How's he?"

"Is he okay?"

"Is he awake?"

Scott held up his hand and gestured that they should all move away from the door. "He's awake…"

They all relaxed.

"But…"

"But?" Three brothers looked at him in concern.

"But… It's crazy…"

"What is, Scott?" Virgil asked.

"He's convinced that he saw Father when he was injured."

"He what?" Gordon exclaimed.

"He kept on saying Dad over and over again," Virgil remembered. "It must have been a dream…"

"Or a hallucination caused by the bump to the head," Gordon suggested.

"He thinks it's real," Scott informed them. He leant against the wall and ran his hand through his hair. "I wish I hadn't let Brains go to Kansas. He'd know what was wrong."

"He probably just needs a good night's sleep," Virgil suggested. "Things will seem clearer to him in the morning.

Scott looked at his watch. "Brains will still be in the air. I think I'll go and give him a call." He started walking down the hallway that lead from the sleeping quarters to the lounge. Eager to hear what the medical expert had to say, John followed.

Gordon turned to Virgil and managed to give a chuckle. "You'll never believe what Alan and I were talking about on the way to rescue those two guys."

Surprised that his brother was talking to him, Virgil replied with a bemused, "What?"

"We were saying how you don't do things by halves…"

Virgil frowned. "Me? I don't do what by halves?"

"Taking on both Grandma and Scott. We reckoned that you were going to be in big trouble when you got home. Alan said that the only way he could think of taking the heat off you would be if one of us got injured…"

---F-A-B---

Assured that her youngest grandson had fallen into sleep, Grandma stood and tucked the blanket in more securely. "There you are, Darling. Everything will be all right in the morning…" She stroked his hair away from his forehead.

It was at that moment that she heard the shout from the hall.

---F-A-B---

"Don't you dare try to lay a guilt trip on me, Gordon!"

Startled by Virgil's response, Gordon tried to explain himself. "I wasn'…"

"I can take you ignoring me. I can take you making snide remarks about me, and John, and Thunderbird Two! But don't expect me to stand here and take that when it's not true!"

Grandma exited Alan's room. "What's going on?"

Gordon tried again. "Vir…"

Scott and John had heard the altercation and turned back. "Virgil!" Scott bellowed. "Be quiet! You'll disturb Alan."

"Scott! Shush," his grandma hissed.

"He…" Virgil pointed at Gordon. "Was blaming me for Alan's accident."

"No…" Gordon protested.

"Gordon?" John looked at him.

"I didn't…"

"And I've had enough!" Virgil stormed. "I've had enough of your snide remarks, Gordon!"

"And we've all had enough of you shouting!" Scott told him.

"You're against shouting?" Virgil asked him. "You've done nothing but shout these last few days and we're all sick of it."

John took a step forward, reaching out to his irate brother.

Virgil took a step back, fending him off. "And I'm fed up with trying to hold both sides of the conversation with you! I'm fed up with the lot of you! And since everyone only seems to care about themselves, we may as well sell the island! Who cares if we never see each other again!?" He continued backing up. "I'll do what you want! I'll sign your stupid contract! And I hope you'll all be happy!" Reaching his bedroom he stepped inside. The door slid shut.

There was silence in the hall after he'd gone.

"I wasn't accusing him," Gordon said. "Honest."

But his grandmother had other concerns. "What did Virgil mean about selling the island…? Scott?"

"Ah… We were going to tell you, Grandma… We'd decided… well, most of us had… Well, all except Virgil… that the only way we could repay the debts…" Scott took a breath. "Was to sell Tracy Island."

"Sell Tracy Island?"

"Mr Brett's found a buyer," Scott explained.

Grandma had paled. "Sell our home?"

"We don't want to. And Virgil is refusing to…"

"Was," John corrected.

"…But we don't think we've got any choice. We were going to tell you, but then we were called away to the rescue, and then there was Alan, and…"

"You're going to sell the island?"

Scott nodded. "Yes, Grandma."

"Without telling me? What about Kyrano and Tin-Tin and Brains?"

"We were going to tell you. They don't know yet either."

"What will happen to me?"

"We'll look after you, Grandma," Scott insisted. "Hopefully once the sale's gone through there'll be enough left over to…"

"You've made up your mind haven't you," Mrs Tracy accused him.

"We've no other choice."

"Very well," Grandma stated. "I'll go start packing."

Slightly bewildered by this turnaround, Scott could only apologise. "I'm sorry, Grandma."

Her back was ramrod straight and she stared him in the eye. "Don't be. I know you're doing this for the best. It's not what your father would have wanted… But then a lot of things have happened that he wouldn't have wanted. I'll be in my room."

There was another uncomfortable silence when she'd left.

"Things are getting worse, aren't they?" Gordon sounded morose. "Grandma's upset, Alan's flipped his lid, Virgil's denounced us all…"

John tapped Scott on the shoulder. "Go on."

Scott looked at him. "What?"

John gestured in the direction of Virgil's room.

"John!" Scott was a mixture of exasperation and anger. "I wish you'd say something coherent! It's like living with a mime!"

John folded his arms and glared at Scott. "Talk to him!"

"Why me?"

John's expression clearly told Scott that he considered his older brother to be a complete idiot.

"Don't look at me like that!" Scott complained. "He'd never listen to me anyway."

The door to Virgil's room and Virgil stormed out. He was dressed in his overalls and his face was like thunder. "Out of my way, Gordon!"

Gordon did a hasty side-step. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to blow up Thunderbird Two!"

"Blow up…?" Gordon stared after his brother's departing back. "Did he say what I thought he said?"

"He'll probably blow up himself with it." John hit his elder brother on the arm. "Talk to him!"

"Ow!" Scott rubbed the bruised area. "John!"

"I think you'd better, Scott," Gordon said.

"Why me? When was I elected nursemaid?"

John stared at Scott; his expression one of dazed incredulity.

Gordon's jaw had dropped in a similar fashion. "Scott," he said. "If the situation wasn't so tragic, that would be funny. You elected yourself nursemaid the day John was born."

"Yeah." John nodded his agreement.

"Is that so?" Scott snapped. "Then I resign as of now! Virgil's come to his senses over the sale of the island. What is there to talk about?"

"I give up," Gordon exclaimed. "Virgil was right. You obviously only care about yourself and no one else. And it's equally obvious that Virgil's not going to want to listen to me. And it sounds as though he doesn't particularly want to talk to John. And since Alan's delusional and there's no one else available, Virgil's going to have to work it out by himself. I'm going for a swim." He left two brothers alone in the hall.

"Scott!" John shook his head in exasperation. Then he pointed in the direction that Virgil had left.

"What if he doesn't want to talk to me?" Scott asked.

John grabbed Scott and pulled him around so he was facing the direction that Virgil had taken.

"What if I don't want to talk to him?"

John wasn't taking no as an answer. He pushed his older brother towards Thunderbird Two's hangar.

---F-A-B---

Virgil was standing at the workbench of one of the workrooms off the main hangar, a set of Thunderbird Two's plans laid out before him and a packet of chips at his elbow.

Since Thunderbird Two's cahelium hull was so tough, his plan was to place a series of small explosives at strategic points. These small charges were to detonate, sending larger explosives into the body of the plane. It was these explosives that would ultimately destroy the workhorse of International Rescue's fleet.

The problem was to work out the optimum place for each set of charges; points on the craft where the most damage could be done for the least effort. Under normal circumstances it was a challenge that Virgil would have relished. But this time he was planning to destroy his beloved Thunderbird Two…

He'd already placed several red marks on the diagram.

"Is that where you are?"

Virgil heard Scott's voice, but chose to ignore him.

"Sulking are you?"

Virgil placed another red mark on the diagram and ate a chip.

"Gordon said to tell you that he was only trying to be civil. You could have at least reciprocated."

Virgil's jaw muscles worked, but he said nothing.

"Are you giving me the 'John' treatment? Because I've had enough of that from him."

Virgil picked up the plans, a handful of chips, a spray can of red paint, and walked away from his brother.

"Fine! Be like that!" Scott snapped. "See if I care. Only don't detonate until I tell you. We don't need to destroy anything until the sale's gone through." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming his hand against a metal cabinet in frustration as he left.

Virgil leant against a bench and wondered when everything had gone so horribly wrong.

---F-A-B---

Scott strode through the complex. He climbed into a monocar and sent it screaming at maximum speed to Thunderbird One's hangar. Once there here exited and looked at his rocket plane.

Thunderbird One stood there; her silence belying her power. Scott took the gantry across to the entrance hatch and strapped himself into the pilot's seat.

---F-A-B---

Gordon had completed ten laps of the pool when the alarm sounded. Startled he stopped swimming and looked about him. He was sure he hadn't heard International Rescue's callout alarm, but despite that it appeared that Thunderbird One was about to launch.

He began swimming towards the ladder and hauled himself out of the pool. He knew that sensors about the pool area should stop Thunderbird One from launching until he was safe, but the pool had started sliding back, exposing Thunderbird One's launch pad. Without even stopping to pick up his towel, he ran into one of the blast proof changing rooms; a fear coursing through his veins that, somehow, Thunderbird One might launch while he was still vulnerable coursing through his veins.

Almost as soon as he heard the door behind him snick shut, he felt the vibrations as Thunderbird One launched herself up through the pool. He watched as she flared away up into the skies.

When the danger passed, Gordon released himself from his haven and hurried up the stairs. He pounded on the still locked patio doors to attract Tin-Tin's attention. She looked up, saw him dripping outside, and unlocked the doors. He slipped inside and slid the doors shut behind him. "What's happening?" he panted.

"I don't know," Tin-Tin replied. "There hasn't been a call out."

"Who's piloting?

"I don't know, Gordon. Where are your brothers?"

"I left John and Scott in the hall. Virgil's gone down to Thunderbird Two's hangar to start laying the charges. I'd guess it's Scott, but why hasn't he radioed asking for clearance?" He stalked over to the desk. "I'm going to find out… International Rescue base calling Thunderbird One. Come in, Thunderbird One."

There was no response and Gordon was about to make the call again when Scott's portrait came to life. "Thunderbird One!"

"What are you doing?" Gordon asked. "You realise you nearly cooked me?"

"I'm having one last flight! Okay!?"

"Okay…" Gordon held up his hands. "You surprised us, that's all. Are you going to be long?"

"As long as I want." Scott abruptly disconnected the link.

Gordon stared at his brother's portrait wondering what was going through his mind.

"Gordon…" Tin-Tin had remained at the window, looking skywards. "I think you'd better come here."

"Why? What's he doing?" Gordon stood at her side. "Where is he?"

"There." Tin-Tin pointed at a tiny dot in the sky.

---F-A-B---

Scott pushed forward on Thunderbird One's control lever. Accelerating, Thunderbird One began a near vertical dive towards the ocean. He opened the viewport and watched as the waves grew nearer and nearer…

---F-A-B---

Still standing behind the villa's patio doors, Gordon and Tin-Tin watched as Thunderbird One flew closer and closer to the Pacific's waters.

"What's he doing, Gordon?" Tin-Tin asked. "He's going too fast…"

Gordon felt his wrist. As was usual when he went swimming, it was bare. "Your watch, Tin-Tin!" She pulled it off and he took it without thanks. "International Rescue calling Thunderbird One! What are you doing?!"

His brother didn't respond.

"Gordon calling Scott! Answer me, Scott!"

"Please stop, Scott," Tin-Tin pleaded. "Come home!"

"Pull up, Thunderbird One!" Gordon shouted. "Pull up!"

It seemed as though the Thunderbird was doomed to be swallowed up by the waters that surrounded Tracy Island, but at the last moment, her underside barely missing the waves, Thunderbird One changed course and started climbing back towards the heavens.

Tin-Tin let out a breath of relief. "That was too close."

Gordon was back on the wristwatch telecom. "Scott Tracy! What the heck do you think you're playing at?" he yelled.

His brother ignored him. Thunderbird One was doing barrel rolls at speeds that would guarantee the destruction of ordinary aircraft.

"I can't watch," Gordon turned his back on the scene outside and handed the watch back to Tin-Tin. "He's going to push her to her limits."

Tin-Tin followed Thunderbird One as she began climbing into a loop. Then she turned so she was leaning against the plexiglass. "What's he mad at, Gordon?"

"Everything?" Gordon guessed.

Tin-Tin sighed. Then a memory surfaced. "Gordon…? You said Virgil was laying charges… Where?"

"Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two?" Tin-Tin frowned. "Why?"

Despite his admission that he couldn't watch Thunderbird One's flight, Gordon had turned back to the window and was craning his neck to try to spot the plane. "So the island's new owners can't abuse her."

"New owners? Gordon? What new owners? Gordon, what are you saying?!"

"Oh, heck." Gordon turned back to his friend. "I'm sorry, Tin-Tin. I forgot that we hadn't told you yet. Mr Brett's found someone who'll take care of our debts if we sell him Tracy Island."

Tin-Tin's reaction had been similar to that of his grandmother's. Except that Tin-Tin's eyes flooded with tears. "You're selling our home?"

"I'm sorry, Tin-Tin. But there's no other way…"

"No…" Tin-Tin let out a sob and ran from the room.

Gordon turned back to the window. "Nice one, Gordon. You've done it again." In punishment he banged his head against the plexiglass.

"Hey!"

Gordon turned. John was standing there, a look of concern on his face as he removed his headphones, leaving them hanging about his neck.

"You've got the right idea, John," Gordon told him. "Not talking is a very good idea, because every time I open my mouth I stick my foot into it."

John cocked his head inquisitively. "How this time?"

Gordon sighed. "I let slip to Tin-Tin we're selling the island... I forgot she didn't know. I'm an idiot."

John walked forward so he was at his brother's side. Then he put an arm about Gordon's shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "No, you're not."

"I don't deserve your sympathy," Gordon admitted. "Not after the way I've treated you these last few days."

He received another squeeze.

Gordon looked John in the eye. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." John looked out the window as a red and silver blur shot past. He frowned.

Gordon turned. "Scott's getting rid of his frustrations by trying to kill himself."

John's frown turned to a look of alarm.

Gordon managed a mirthless chuckle. "Either that or he's trying to give us heart failure, which he's almost achieved. He probably has fried my towel."

John watched Thunderbird One loop the loop. He shook his head in exasperation.

"You give him a good talking to when he comes back," Gordon suggested; before holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Joke."

John smiled.

Gordon clapped his brother on the back. "Will you keep an eye on Scott? I've got another apology to make."

John nodded. "Sure."

* * *

Virgil was standing at the desk in the workroom watching the computer scroll through its calculations. He ignored the person who had entered the room and cleared his throat. 

"Peace offering?"

Virgil looked down at the chocolate bar that had been placed neatly on the plans. "That's not funny, Gordon."

Gordon extended his arms in a helpless gesture. "I'm not trying to be funny. I want to apologise."

Virgil resumed his inspection of the computer and made a couple of entries.

"It's my last 'Mocca-chocca' bar," Gordon admitted.

Virgil hesitated. 'Mocca-chocca' bars were his favourite and, he knew, Gordon's. Many times over the years there'd been a friendly rivalry between the pair of them as they'd jostled each other to grab the last bar from the pantry.

"I wasn't trying to blame you when I made that comment about Alan getting hurt," Gordon explained. "I was trying to improve communications between us, not make them worse… I guess that over the last few days I've got so used to not saying anything nice to you, and you've got so used to hearing me say some pretty horrible things, that neither of us know… or expect… anything different."

The computer beeped.

"It's all I can think of to show that I mean it, now that I'm trying to say I'm sorry." Gordon pushed the chocolate bar closer to his brother. "I don't know what else to do. I'd offer to help you lay charges, but you'd only think I wanted to blow up Thunderbird Two." He ran his finger along the end of the desk. "How about…?" he bit his lip. "How about I ask you to help me plan where to lay the charges on Thunderbird Four?"

Virgil finally looked at his brother. "Are you serious?"

Gordon nodded; his face a picture of misery.

"Why the change of heart?"

"I was thinking, on the flight back with Alan, what if he'd been more seriously hurt? Would I have coped with that on top of what's happened to Dad? Then I started thinking what if it had been you or John? And I decided that I could never have forgiven myself."

"That wasn't what I meant, but it's nice to know. Why do you want to destroy Thunderbird Four?"

"Well… It's not fair that I'm the only one able to keep his Thunderbird, is it? And if I did, what would I do with her? She's smaller than the others, but it would still take a fair sized shed to house her, and even then I'd never be able to use her. She's not exactly a pleasure craft to be taken out for a spin on a summer's day. And we'd still have security issues. No…" Gordon took a deep breath. "If we have to destroy one Thunderbird, we have to destroy them all."

"I'm sorry, Gordon."

Gordon managed a wry grin. "Hey, I thought I was the one apologising."

"You're forgiven." Virgil pushed the 'Mocca-chocca' bar back towards Gordon.

"No." Gordon pushed it back. "It's yours."

"Want halves?"

"No," Gordon shook his head. "I need to go for a swim. Scott interrupted my last one. Hopefully he's back now."

"Thank you," Virgil said. He watched his brother leave and then looked back down at the chocolate bar. Then, carrying it with him, he walked through the complex until he came to the pod that housed Thunderbird Four. He climbed inside the yellow submarine and laid the 'Mocca-chocca' bar on the pilot's seat.

Then, munching on another snack bar, he returned to the workshop.

* * *

Scott didn't know that his temper had improved, but he knew it was time to get back home. He wondered briefly how much longer he could call Tracy Island that. 

The pool housing was still open and he slotted Thunderbird One through the opening and settled her on the trolley. Then, after taking the china plate off the bulkhead as a souvenir, he exited the craft.

"Dinner is ready, Mister Scott…" Kyrano began, but Scott didn't appear to hear him as he strode through the lounge.

He was back a few minutes later, dressed in overalls…

_To be continued…_


	8. Begging For Answers

**8 Eight: Begging for Answers**

Brains flew over the Kansas countryside. Beneath him the scene changed as housing increased in density. As he left the rural zone behind and flew over town, and then city, he couldn't help but analyse the cause of Jeff Tracy's fatal crash.

He knew that Mr Tracy was a fit man for his age and Brains had long ago discounted illness as the cause of the accident. He also couldn't believe that Jeff Tracy's actions could have been directly responsible for the crash. In Brains' mind, that only left one option.

Aircraft failure.

Brains' job was to create machines that would save lives, and the idea that one of his machines could harm or take a life was an anathema to him. The very idea that a plane that he'd designed specifically for his employer and friend was the cause of his friend's, and others', deaths was a horrific reality that Brains was having to face.

He had seriously considered turning around and heading home when Scott had contacted him and told him about Alan's accident and subsequent accusations. Only the thought that, by finding the cause of the accident he might be able to bring closure to himself and the family, kept him going.

Now he was flying over the Sunflower Mall. Glancing at the video monitor he could clearly see the long black scar that marked the final landing place of the jet.

It might have been the plane's final landing place, but it wasn't its final resting place. The aircraft wasn't even being allowed to rest in peace as men picked over its remains, trying to find out where Brains had gone wrong.

Approaching the air field, Brains requested permission to land and brought the plane in low. Soon he was taxiing along the runway that, only four days earlier, Jeff Tracy had flown out from on that final, fatal journey.

He was met by the chief Air Accident Inspector; a balding man with a strong grip and a no-nonsense attitude, who could also exude sympathy to those he felt deserved it.

He reserved that decision when he greeted Brains. "Mr Hackenbacker."

Brains felt his fingers squeezed painfully, as he replied, "Mr Campbell."

"The car's this way." David Campbell indicated a practical model of vehicle which emphasised his serious nature. He lifted some of Brains' bags with ease.

"Th-Thank, you," Brains said, picking up his portable computer.

"Did you have a good flight?" David asked as he loaded the boot of the car.

Brains nodded. "Y-Yes, th-thank you."

"It was a long one. Do you want me to take you to your motel first so you can have a rest?"

"No. I a-am o-okay. I had a stop over on the way h-here," Brains admitted. "If it's all r-right with you, I should like to t-take a l-look at the 'p-plane."

David glanced at him. "Are you sure?"

"Y-Yes."

David put the car into gear and moved off. "Hiram Hackenbacker," he mused. "Didn't you develop the 'Hackenbacker Device' for the Skythrust?"

"Y-Yes. That's r-right."

"Great piece of engineering. You've saved a good many lives with that bit of technology."

Brains was silent.

* * *

Alan awoke, washed, dressed and headed out to the dining room. Most of his family was present. 

"Here he is." Gordon sounded cheerful.

"Morning, Honey," Grandma said. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Okay," Alan admitted. "I've got a slight headache, that's all."

John, on his daily migration from the rooftop to his bedroom, stopped off to grab some food to take with him. His headphones isolating him from his family; he ignored them all as reached into the fridge.

No-one seemed to care.

"Do you want something to eat, Alan?" Grandma asked.

Alan took his seat, not particularly feeling like eating her less than perfect cooking. "I'll just have cereal, thanks." He noticed two empty places at the table. "Has Scott gone to get Dad?"

It was as if a shockwave went through the room. Gordon, Tin-Tin and Kyrano stared at him. Grandma almost dropped the kettle. Virgil had frozen; his spoon halfway between the bowl and his still open mouth. Even John seemed to sense that something was wrong. He slid his headphones off his ears so they were resting on his shoulders and looked at his youngest brother.

"Alan?" Gordon asked.

Alan felt a sinking feeling. "You didn't believe me yesterday, did you?"

Gordon looked at the rest of his family. "Uhh…"

"Or didn't Scott tell you? Dad was in one of the warehouses," Alan insisted. "I saw him"

"Alan," Virgil said cautiously. "That's not possible."

"I didn't believe it myself at first, but it was definitely him!" Alan screwed his face up in thought. "He said something to me… Something important!" He put his fist to his head, trying to push the memory out. "I wish I could remember what…"

"Alan," Gordon sounded patient as he tried to reason with his younger brother. "It can't have been him. He was killed in the plane crash. Don't you remember?"

"I remember," Alan insisted. "And I know it's what we're supposed to believe. But it's not true! Someone's kidnapped him. I found him locked up in this room, and this guy came up behind me and hit me on the head. Then they threw me into the room with Dad. I talked to him. He's alive!"

"It's the bump on the head," Virgil said. "It's…"

"No!" Alan exclaimed, desperate to make his family believe. "I tell you he's alive. He's alive and he's been hurt and we've got to help him! We're International Rescue! We've got to rescue him!"

"Calm down, Alan," Gordon said.

"Please..." Tin-Tin laid a hand on his arm.

"No!" He pulled free. "Listen to me! Dad's alive! You do believe me, don't you? Gordon?"

Gordon stared back at him with a look of intense concern.

"Virgil?"

Virgil avoided his brother's accusing stare by having another spoonful of cereal.

"John?"

John looked stunned.

"Kyrano?"

"Your father is at peace, Mister Alan."

"Grandma?"

She was clearly worried. "Perhaps you'd better go back to bed, Alan."

Alan turned to his last source of hope and support. "Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin burst into tears.

"You don't believe me?" Alan looked at his family again. "None of you do?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Where's Scott?" Alan stood. "I'll make him believe."

"But your breakfast…" Grandma began.

Alan fled the dining room. He ran into the lounge finding, as he'd expected, Scott sitting at his father's desk. "Why are you still here?!"

"Alan?" Scott looked up from the International Rescue papers he'd been reading. "I'm not hungry, so I didn't go in for breakfast."

"That's not what I mean. Why haven't you gone to look for Dad?"

Scott looked startled at the accusation. "Alan?"

"He's alive! I told you he's alive. Didn't you believe me?" Alan heard members of his family enter the room but ignored them. "You should be in the plane now, flying back to Kansas to rescue him! I don't care if you take Thunderbird One, just do it!"

"Take Thunderbird One?" Scott appeared to be struggling to understand his brother's demands. "She's wired for demolition…"

"Demolition! No! Don't you see you don't have to do that? Dad's alive…" Alan leant on the desk. "I wish I could remember what Dad told me. I KNOW it was important."

"Alan," Scott asked. "Have you had your breakfast? You'd feel better after having something to eat."

Alan didn't listen. "We should tell Brains that the accident wasn't his fault. The poor guy's been blaming himself for nothing. Wait a minute! He's in Kansas, isn't he? He can start making enquiries. Maybe get the police to go around to the warehouse and rescue Dad. Let me talk to Brains."

"No!" Scott got to his feet. "You're not going to talk to Brains! He feels guilty enough as it is. Don't make him feel guilty because he's not here to look after you too!"

"I'm fine! I don't need Brains to look after me," Alan protested. "But Dad will need medical help once we find him!"

"Alan! Dad is dead!"

"No! No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is!" Scott ignored Virgil's quiet reprimand as he continued trying to drive home the message. "Don't you understand? Dad – Is – Dead!"

"I saw him, Scott! I touched him! He touched me! He needs a shave…"

Scott pulled out some papers. "This is the A.A.I.'s initial report. It clearly says that no one could have survived the crash. There's no way that Father could have survived the crash!"

"Unless he was never in the plane," Alan pointed out. "Give me the report. There must be something in there that will prove that."

Scott kept a tight grip on the report. "You won't understand it! It's a technical report…"

"Stop treating me like a child! I can fly too, you know," Alan reminded him. "I have a fair bit of technical knowledge." He ripped the A.A.I.'s report out of Scott's hand. "I'll find something that will prove that I'm right! And then you'll all be begging to go to Kansas to save him!" Clutching the report tightly he ran from the room.

"Nice one, Scott," Gordon reprimanded his older brother. "You handled that really well."

"Couldn't you have humoured him a little?" Virgil asked. "It's not good for him to get worked up like that."

John folded his arms and glared at his older brother.

"What was I supposed to do?!" Scott exploded. "Say 'it's okay, Alan. I'll just pop into Thunderbird One and fly half way around the world on a wild goose chase'?"

* * *

They had arrived at the hangar that housed the remains of Jeff Tracy's jet. It was a large, uninteresting building, and from the outside there was no hint that it contained the shattered remains of one family's life. 

Brains stared at it for a moment, not really wanting to go inside. David Campbell came to his shoulder. "Shall we go in?"

Brains nodded, picked up his computer and another bag, and followed the inspector into the building.

At first they walked through the foyer and down corridors between shabby offices. Then they reached a cloakroom.

David Campbell sized Brains up. "You'll need a pair of overalls."

"I-I have s-some in my bag," Brains began, but the A.A.I. was reaching into a locker.

"If you don't mind we'll give you ours. Less chance of contamination."

Feeling that the 'contamination' that they were concerned about was him planting diversionary evidence, Brains accepted the overalls. He put them on.

"Ready?" David asked.

Brains took a deep breath and nodded.

Together they walked out into a hangar that, from this angle, seemed to be nearly as large as Thunderbird Two's. "It used to be used for building space shuttles for private companies," David explained.

But it wasn't the size of the building that held Brains' attention. It was the blackened, scorched pile of metal that was laid out before him. It was the smell of burnt ferrous compounds. It was the idea that no-one could have survived that crash.

He frowned. "Did the j-jet crash into f-fuel h-holding tanks?"

David shook his head. "No. It landed into the heart of the mall."

"S-Something's not right," Brains mused. "I-I built a number of safety components into the c-craft to prevent explosive l-landings. I also used a n-new type of fuel…"

David consulted his notes. "Hypothermoilene."

Brains nodded. "It's v-very stable. I-It is non-combustible. Th-The plane should not have b-been destroyed l-like this."

"Maybe it combusts under certain conditions?" David suggested.

"N-No. I tested it rigorously."

"Is it possible that Jeff Tracy would have carried anything flammable on board the plane?"

"P-Perhaps. B-But only if it were c-contained in a secure container."

"The explosion travelled from the bow to the stern of the plane. Would he have been likely to have carried any flammable item in the cockpit area?"

Brains shook his head. "N-No. He would have s-stored such an item in the hold." His frown deepened. Something was definitely amiss.

* * *

Alan frowned and rubbed his eyes. Scott had been right. For an early draft there were a lot of technical details in this report. 

Being a pilot himself, Alan had a good knowledge of what did what and what went where, but how one thing connected to another causing a pile of heavier than air components to lift off the ground had always escaped him. Yet again he found himself glossing over the more technical aspects of the report.

"Concentrate, Alan!" he told himself, and knuckled down to his reading. There had to be some evidence in here…

…And then the evidence seemed to leap off the page at him. He re-read it to make sure that he understood its implications and that his tired and sore brain wasn't only looking for something he needed desperately to be there.

No. It still made sense.

He read it again, highlighting the important sentence.

Clutching the report to his chest he ran into the lounge. "There! Read that and tell me I'm wrong!"

Scott glared at him, but said nothing. He took the report and read the passage that was highlighted in yellow. Then he looked back at Alan. "What does this prove?"

"He used the wrong call sign!"

"I can see that, but what does it prove?"

"Scott…" Alan couldn't believe how dumb his eldest brother was being. "He used the wrong call sign! Dad knows how important it is to get these things right. He would NEVER use the wrong call sign. Whoever's kidnapped him must have been planning this for months. They probably took a recording of him leaving on one of his earlier flights. They never expected him to have a new plane this time."

Alan waited, expecting some kind of reaction. A faint glimmer of hope, a realisation that the youngest brother wasn't delusional, a race for Thunderbird One…

Scott just shook his head. "It was a new plane, Alan. He wasn't used to it. Maybe he wasn't feeling well and wasn't thinking straight. Maybe he had something else on his mind. Don't forget that the A.A.I. found his DNA in the wreckage."

Alan's heart sank. "Please, Scott. Believe me. I saw Dad. He wasn't in the plane," he pointed at the report, "and he didn't make that call on that day. He's been kidnapped!"

"Why?" Scott asked.

The question stunned Alan. "Huh?"

"Why has he been kidnapped? We haven't received a ransom demand."

Alan was stumped. His one thought had been on rescuing his father. He hadn't considered that there had to be a motive behind the kidnapping. "One of his competitors wanted to get him out of the way?"

"What would they gain? No one's made a move on the company. There've been no hostile takeover bids…"

"How do you know?" Alan accused. "You've only been concentrating on International Rescue's business, not Tracy Industries."

"They would have contacted me."

"How, Scott? You've got the videophone and fax turned off. Have you been checking Dad's emails?"

"No…"

"Does anyone know your email address?"

"The air accident inspector does, and the Kansas chief of police, and…" Scott pointed at Alan, "so does Mr Brett."

"But none of them have anything to do with Tracy Industries," Alan pointed out. "You don't KNOW that that's not the reason."

"I do know that that's not the reason, because there IS no reason," Scott was reaching the end of his limited patience. "Father is dead. There's nothing we can do about it. Why don't you go and get some sun? You're looking pale."

---F-A-B---

"What we'd like you to do," David Campbell told Brains, "is sit in that room there. It's glassed in so you can see what we're doing. If we have any questions we'll bring them to you. Under no circumstances are you to approach the wreckage. I'm sure that you can understand that we have got to keep the investigation as impartial as possible."

"I u-understand."

"We've had pressure all the way from the top on this one," David explained. "I even had a call from the World President this morning, asking me if I could explain how one of the world's most respected entrepreneurs and pilots could crash into a heavily populated mall. She's feeling the heat from the world's media."

"I-I understand," Brains repeated. "I-I want to know what h-happened as much as anyone."

David led the way to Brains' room, gesturing to one of his assistants as he did so. "Here's our first puzzle," he said when they were seated. "We're not sure if this is the starboard or port unit."

Brains hesitated. "May I touch it?" He took the charred bit of metal and examined it closely. Then he withdrew a magnifying glass from a bag and peered through it. "Port," he said. "If you l-look here," he showed some faint scratching to the assistant. "Th-That's the code for the port unit."

"Thanks." The assistant took the unit and returned to his work.

David gave a tight smile. "I can see you're going to be invaluable."

---F-A-B---

"Gordon, I need your help."

Gordon completed a lap of the pool and looked up at Alan. "What can I do?"

Alan sat on the edge of the pool. "Come with me back to Kansas?"

At once Gordon became wary. "Why?"

"To help me find Dad."

"Find Dad…? Look, Alan…"

"Gordon, I found evidence that he wasn't on the plane."

"Evidence!?" Gordon pulled himself out of the pool so he was sitting beside his brother. "What evidence? What does Scott say?"

"I read the A.A.I.'s report. Dad gave the wrong call sign."

"And…?"

Alan looked at Gordon. "And that's it."

"What call sign did he give?"

"The one for his old jet. See! They recorded him…"

"They?"

"The kidnappers. They recorded him taking off last time he was in Kansas, or the time before, and they replayed the recording this time so that the control tower wouldn't realise that Dad wasn't in the plane. I've been trying to work out a motive," Alan explained. "And I think I've thought of one."

"A motive?"

"Yes," Alan nodded. "Maybe they were after the new jet! They were hoping to claim it as their own design and make a fortune!"

"By crashing the plane and killing Dad?"

"No! Something went wrong. They didn't mean the plane to crash. That was a mistake."

"O-kay…" Gordon said slowly. "Then if Dad wasn't the pilot, who was?"

This was something else that Alan hadn't considered. "I don't know."

"And why did they only find Dad's DNA in the wreckage?"

Alan could feel his brother's support slip away. "I don't know," he repeated.

"And how could they have known that Dad was going to be flying a new jet this time? By your hypothesis they'd recorded him saying the call sign for the old jet, but they were hoping to take control of the new one." Gordon put his wet arm about his brother's shoulders. "Look, Alan. I know you're upset. I know you'd give anything to bring Dad back. But it's not going to happen. We have to accept that he was killed in that crash and get on with our lives."

"But he wasn't killed. I saw him!"

"Alan…"

"I touched him!"

"Alan…"

"He touched me!"

"Alan!"

"He needs a shave!"

Gordon was at his wits' end. "Alan! Stop this crazy talk! Can't you see what you're doing to all of us?"

"Never mind us! What about Dad? He's been kidnapped, he's hurt…"

"'He's still alive!' You've told us that. Time and time again. But how, Alan? You saw the official files. No one could have lived through that crash! No one else could have flown his plane!" Gordon slipped back into the water. "Why don't you go and have a lie down? You're looking tired?"

---F-A-B---

Brains sat alone in his fishbowl of a room and watched the men pick through the remains of the jet that he'd been so proud of. A man would pick up a piece of plane, consult other men, make note on their tablet computers, replace the part, and move on.

He thought about the conversation that he'd had with Scott. About Alan's assertion that Jeff Tracy was still alive. And Brains thought that all Alan would need to see would be this pile of burned residue and he'd know the truth.

---F-A-B---

Alan walked through the hallway that ran past their bedrooms. When he came to the door that was inlaid with stars he hesitated. Then he knocked.

There was no reply.

"John…" he called, knocking again.

The door remained shut.

"John!" Alan bellowed. "Open up! I need to talk to you!"

"Alan?"

Alan turned. "Grandma!"

"Let him sleep, Darling. He's tired." She looked at her grandson; her face lined and careworn. "You look tired too."

"I'm fine!" he said impatiently. "I just need someone to believe me. I saw Dad!"

"Perhaps if you were to lie down for a short while, you'd feel better…? I could bring you a hot chocolate?" Grandma offered. "That always makes you sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," Alan complained. "I want someone to believe me and fly with me back to Kansas."

"Honey…" Grandma took his hands in hers. "Alan… Your father is no longer with us. He is never coming back. You do remember the plane crash, don't you?"

"I remember it. I remember being on Thunderbird Five when it happened. I remember Scott coming to get me. I remember how I felt when I believed that Dad was dead. But I now know it was a trick!"

"Alan…"

"It's a scam to make us believe that Dad is dead. But they didn't count on my seeing him in that warehouse..."

"Darling…"

"I need to find some proof; something to make you all believe me…" Alan snapped his fingers. "And I think I know what that is."

"Alan?"

"I'll be back soon, Grandma. And with any luck I'll have the evidence I need…"

---F-A-B---

John had heard the banging on his door and Alan calling his name, but had chosen to ignore it. It was too hard to deal with everything at the moment. It was hard living with the knowledge that his father had been killed. It was hard watching his family grieve. And now it was hard seeing his little brother fall to pieces.

John didn't think he had the strength to face Alan and his wild ideas today.

He yawned, turned his stereo up a little, and lay back on his bed. He supposed that he shouldn't be surprised that he was tired. He'd stayed up the last three nights, watching the stars and listening to music through his headphones. During the daylight hours he was more comfortable being alone in his room, away from his family. But, perversely, it was his family that kept him from spending his nocturnal hours in the observatory on the other side of the island. John, for all his desire for isolation, couldn't bear the idea of being too far from those he cared most about.

He curled up under his bedclothes, hugged his pillow tightly, and tried to go to sleep…

---F-A-B---

Virgil was held aloft in a cage atop International Rescue's version of a cherry picker. He was laying charges on Thunderbird Two when he heard the sound of running feet, but missed seeing their owner. Curious he lowered himself to ground level and hurried inside his plane. Consulting an electronic map on the bulkhead he watched as a white dot moved through the plane's interior.

Virgil found Alan on the floor of the sickbay, his gloved hands going through the waste disposal unit. "Alan? What are you doing?"

"Where is the rubbish?" Alan asked in frustration.

"Where it always is after a rescue," Virgil reminded him. "We destroy it."

"You can't have! Not that!"

"What are you looking for?"

Alan sat back on his haunches. "Remember when those guys brought me out to you? I had a bandage on my head. Remember?"

"I remember," Virgil said.

"That wasn't a bandage. Please tell me you didn't destroy that!"

"We didn't…" Virgil began.

Alan visibly relaxed. "Good. Then where is it?"

"The paramedics who looked you over have it. They've probably disposed it."

"And you let them?!" Alan was on his feet. He grabbed at the tight material of Virgil's shirt, nearly knocking his brother over in the process. "Why?!"

"Alan! Let go of me!" Virgil prised his brother's fingers loose from his front.

Alan took a step back. He looked crestfallen. "That was evidence."

"Evidence?" Virgil frowned. "Evidence of what?"

"Evidence that Dad is still alive."

"Still alive… Look, Alan…"

"That bandage was the bottom of Dad's shirt," Alan spoke quickly, more than a little desperate to get some support from someone. "He didn't have anything else to keep the pad on my head, so he cut off his shirttail and used that. Don't you remember what it looked like?"

"No," Virgil shook his head. "I was worried about you, not about what your bandages were made of."

"Oh." Alan slumped against the sickbay bed as he tried to articulate his thoughts into something coherent. "I've been trying to work out why he was kidnapped. I've considered business competitors trying to gain control of the company and someone after the design of the jet. But the obvious answer is that they wanted money."

"Except that we don't have any," Virgil said.

"But they weren't to know that. But the problem with that theory is: why haven't they sent a ransom demand?"

"Because, Alan…" Virgil spoke slowly, "he hasn't been kidnapped. He was in the jet…"

"Listen to me, Virg. I saw Dad. I spoke to him, I touched his face and he needs a shave. He touched me. He helped me. He bandaged my head. He tried to protect me… Why do you think that I'm lying?!"

"I don't think you're lying. I think you're..."

"Crazy? Mad? Lost my marbles?"

"No, I don't think you're crazy. I think you're reacting to a situation that you wish had never happened; that none of us wish had happened. And you're trying to deal with that situation the best way you can…"

"No!" Alan stood. "I'm not delusional! And I'm not crazy! I saw our father! He – Is – Alive!"

"Alan…" Virgil began.

"If you're not going to help me then I'll have to find some other way of proving that I'm right! I WILL find the proof that Dad is alive!" Alan ran from Thunderbird Two's sickbay.

Virgil ran his hand through his hair. "I think I need to have a word with the others…"

---F-A-B---

Alan ran across Thunderbird Two's hangar, through the concealed door, and into the hangar that housed their conventional aircraft. It looked empty without Brains' jet and his father's new aeroplane.

Alan ignored the gap in the fleet's ranks and ran over to one of the sleeker models. He opened the door…

"What are you doing?"

Alan turned and saw someone standing there. "Tin-Tin!"

"Alan?"

"I'm going to find my father." Alan turned back and put his foot on the first step of the plane.

"Alan! No!"

Alan found himself being pulled away from the door. "Tin-Tin! What are you doing?"

"I cannot let you go."

"And I can't stay. I have to find him."

There were tears in her eyes. "Do not leave here, Alan. You are not well."

"I'm fine," he lied. "My head's fine. I have to go."

"Don't do this, Alan. Think about your family."

"They all think I'm crazy." He looked at her. "You do too, don't you?"

She turned away, hiding her hands from him. "I am worried about you," she said softly.

"Then help me," Alan begged, twisting her around so she was facing him. "Come with me. You can fly the plane!" he indicated the jet that he had chosen.

"No, Alan. I am needed here. My father needs me… Your family needs you to stay too."

"So they can watch over me and make sure I don't hurt myself, or do anything to disgrace the family name?"

"They are worried about you."

"Only because they are not listening to me." Alan caught both of Tin-Tins hands, gripping them so tightly that they hurt. "Listen to me. I did see him. I did talk to him. I DID touch him. I touched his face. He needs a shave and his kidnappers won't give him a razor. He bandaged my head with his shirttail."

"Alan, you're frightening me…" She tried to pull free. "You're hurting me!"

Alan released his hold on her. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Because it is not possible for your father to be alive. The report made that clear…"

"I'm telling you the truth and if you won't believe me then I'll have to leave to find the proof I need." He kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be back." He turned to mount the aeroplane's steps.

Tin-Tin grabbed his arm again. "Please, Alan. Wait! Talk to me!"

"I've talked to everyone! I talked to you. I've talked to my brothers. No one wants to listen! What else am I supposed to do?"

"You will rest, Mister Alan."

Alan spun around at the unexpected voice. "Kyrano?"

"What were you planning to do?"

It wasn't only the pain in his head that made Alan feel that he was banging it against a brick wall. "I am going to take the jet and I am going to find my father, Kyrano."

Kyrano stepped out of the shadows, shaking his head. "I can not allow you to leave, Mister Alan."

Alan straightened to his full height. "Why not?"

"You are not well."

"I'm perfectly all right! And you are not going to stop me!" Alan made a move towards the jet, but Kyrano was quicker. He caught and held Alan's arm pulling him away from the aeroplane as his daughter had done.

Tin-Tin burst into tears as she watched the two men she cared the most about struggle briefly.

Kyrano pulled Alan around so he was facing him. "I can not allow you to leave," he repeated. "Out of respect for your father you must not go."

"My father always respected you," Alan reminded him. "You were always more than a servant to him. Dad always treated you as a member of the family."

"And that is why I must stop you. Family members must protect their relatives from harm. You must be kept safe. It is my duty. It is what Mr Tracy would have wanted."

"What he wants is to be released from his prison. He wants to come home to his family. And I want to help him. Help me, Kyrano!"

Kyrano stared the young man in the eye. "Tin-Tin. Lock the door to the aeroplane."

"Yes, Father." Alan heard her scurry across to the plane and the sounds of a lock being sealed.

"Come with us back to the house, Mister Alan." Kyrano's grip was like iron. "Do not make me hurt you."

Alan looked at the older man. He might have the flexibility and strength of youth, but knew that Kyrano's martial arts skills would be more than a match for him. "You are not hurting me physically, Kyrano. But mentally everyone is killing me… and hurting Dad."

"I am sorry. But I must do my duty."

Alan shook himself loose. "Your duty is to help Dad." He put his hand to his head as the pounding pain increased.

"Please, Mister Alan." Now Kyrano's touch was gentle. "Let me help you to your room."

Alan took a step backwards. "I don't need your help!" Without looking at Tin-Tin, he marched away to the exit that led to the monocar.

It wasn't until he was halfway there that he remembered that the vehicle was out of bounds. Not wanting to return to the hangar in case he should meet anyone, he slipped out of an emergency exit and onto the path that led up to the villa.

He reached the courtyard, intending to skirt it so that he wouldn't have to face Gordon in the pool. It wasn't until he was halfway around when he realised that there were no sounds of splashing. He looked at his watch. It was close to lunchtime. Gordon had probably abandoned the pool for something to eat.

Alan came to the bottom of the stairs and looked up towards the villa. Unless he'd had a major change of attitude, Scott wouldn't have gone to lunch and Alan knew that if he wanted to avoid a confrontation he'd have to enter the house another way.

But did he want to avoid a confrontation? What Alan wanted was someone to believe him and organise a rescue mission for his father. Maybe… Just maybe… Scott had been thinking over what had been said earlier and would be more open to the suggestion that the pair of them fly out straight away.

With the stubbornness that had irritated his brothers over the years, but had also helped him rescue people against the odds, Alan mounted the steps and strode into the lounge. There he stopped, aware of sombre feeling that pervaded the room…. Aware that he was being watched…

Aware that as well as the rest of his family, Angus Brett stood there…

_To be continued…_


	9. A Lady's Assistance

**09 Nine: A Lady's Assistance**

Alan stared at the tableau in front of him. In his desperation to find someone who would fly back to Kansas to rescue his dad, or at least someone to believe him, he'd forgotten that Angus Brett was returning today to finalise the sale of the island.

"Hello, Alan," Mr Brett said.

Alan managed to say a mumbled hello in reply.

"We were just about to go looking for you," Scott told him.

"Shall we begin?" Mr Brett asked. "I know that your father would not have wanted to cause his family undue distress. He would approve of you selling this island so that you can all begin your lives again debt free." He withdrew a document from his briefcase. "This is the original of the copy I sent through to you. I take it you've all read it?"

"We have," Scott confirmed.

"And have you reached a decision?"

"We have," Scott repeated.

Mr Brett laid the contract on the desk and took a gold pen out of his pocket. "And have you all agreed to sell Tracy Island?"

Scott glanced at Virgil, who was stony faced, before nodding.

"Good," Mr Brett gave a smile and held out his pen. "As the oldest, perhaps you'll go first, Scott?"

Scott took the pen, scanned through the document quickly, and then signed his name at the bottom. Then he held the pen out. "John?"

Showing obvious reluctance, John accepted the pen, stepped forward and signed the contract. Then he laid the pen down on the desk and walked outside so he was leaning on the patio railing; gazing out over the Pacific Ocean; listening to the music in his headphones.

Scott looked at his middle brother. "Virgil?"

"Do you require all of our signatures?" Virgil asked the lawyer. "Or only a majority?"

"The way the will's written you all have to agree," Brett said.

Virgil thrust his hands into his pockets. "I still think that this isn't right, but… since I did agree..." He accepted the pen held out to him by Mr Brett. Overcome by a moment's indecision, his hand wavered over the papers, before he signed, dropped the pen on the desk, and retired to the piano, where he sat on the stool with his back to the lounge; eating.

Mr Brett picked up the pen again. "Gordon?"

Gordon stepped forward and looked at Scott as he accepted the writing implement. "No strings," he said and signed the document. He gave the pen back to Mr Brett and retired to the far side of the room where he slumped against the wall.

Mr Brett held the pen out to the youngest member of the family. "Alan?"

Alan clenched his hands into fists. "No."

Mr Brett appeared astonished. "No?"

"No. I'm not going to sign."

"Alan?" Scott scowled. "You agreed that we should all sign…"

"I don't agree now."

"You're the one who tried to talk Virgil into signing!"

"I was wrong. I'm not going to sign. This is our home and we're keeping it!"

Virgil had turned on the stool to watch. John had removed his headphones, abandoned the patio and was standing in the doorway. Gordon had straightened up. They all stared at Alan.

"I am not signing," Alan repeated.

"Come now, Alan," Mr Brett gave his most ingratiating smile. "I don't wish to seem pushy, but every second that this island remains unsold equates to millions more dollars owing in interest. You are not solving anything by being obstinate. In fact you are only making things worse."

"Tracy Island is not for sale," Alan told him.

Mr Brett tried a different tack. "May I remind you, that I have flown halfway around the world on the understanding that you'd all agreed to this deal. I am a very busy man."

"Alan…" Scott hissed, striding over to his brother. "You WILL sign!"

"No," Alan contradicted. "No, I will not."

"Alan," Gordon pleaded. "Be reasonable you've read the reports…"

"They lied! I don't know why, but they lied!"

"Alan," Mr Brett said patiently. "While we're standing here the interest on your debts is increasing. The island's purchaser is a very generous man, but even he will have his limit as to how much he is willing to pay…"

"I'm not signing," Alan's jaw was sticking out in the gesture that his brothers knew only too well. It was his mulish look and signalled that nothing would change his mind. "You can't make me! My - father - is - still - alive!"

"Alan!" Scott lost his temper. "Don't be ridiculous! Father is dead! You have to accept that!"

"Scott," Virgil said quietly. "Keep calm."

"NO!" Alan yelled. "He is not dead! I saw him!"

Mr Brett looked at him in surprise.

Alan took a step away from him. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Alan…" Gordon started to say.

"You can't make me sign that bit of paper! The only one who can is my father! And he wouldn't sell Tracy Island!" With that pronouncement Alan ran from the room.

An awkward silence followed.

Scott breathed deeply; trying to regain his temper. "Sorry about that, Sir," he apologised.

"He's taking it hard," Mr Brett noted as he gathered the papers together.

"He… ah, he went climbing yesterday," Scott lied. "He fell and banged his head," he indicated the area of Alan's injury. "Since then he's convinced himself that somehow Father's still alive."

"A fall?" Brett looked at Scott with curiosity. "Has he seen a doctor?"

"He got medical help almost immediately. We're waiting to see if he improves or if we'll have to get specialised treatment."

Mr Brett placed the papers on what had been Jeff's desk. "I'll leave these with you… See if you can talk some sense into him. I can't emphasise enough the importance of finalising these details immediately. Every second…"

Scott nodded. "We understand."

"The only way that the courts will be able to approve of less than full acceptance will be if you have proof that whoever hasn't signed is incapable of signing… for whatever reason…"

Scott nodded again…

---F-A-B---

Alan ran to his room and locked the door behind him. He was beginning to feel trapped. If only they'd believe him! He needed help but whom could he call on?

He grabbed his watch…

---F-A-B---

Attired in an elegant gown, Lady Penelope attempted to relax in an easy chair, holding a cup of Earl Grey tea. She wasn't looking forward to attending the soiree, but reasoned that she had to get out of the house. Jeff's death had been preying on her mind for too long.

Parker had just taken up the silver teapot when it started beeping. Surprised, he handed it to his mistress. She twisted the ebony knob clockwise with her delicate, but deadly, hands. "Lady Penelope speaking…"

"Penny, thank heavens," Alan said eagerly. "Look, can you switch to video? I need to see you, and I need you to see me."

"Very well," Lady Penelope gave Parker the teapot. He placed it on top of the large television set housed in what appeared to be a Georgian cabinet. The youngest Tracy's face appeared on the screen. "Alan, how lovely to talk to you. I'd heard you had had an accident. How are you, dear boy?"

"Desperate," he said with honesty. "I need your help, Penny. Please listen to me."

"Desperate?" she repeated. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Has anyone told you what happened yesterday?"

"Only that you were on a rescue and something hit you on your head…"

"Yes, that's right," Alan nodded. "We were all on the rescue… It was probably going to be International Rescue's last…"

Parker glanced at his mistress.

"…We'd finished and I was checking out one of the neighbouring buildings, 'cause Virgil's scanners had seen someone there. I was walking down a corridor when I came to a door with a new bolt and padlock on it. The top of the door was glassed in. I looked through the door…" Alan hesitated, unsure if she would believe him, "…and..."

Lady Penelope waited.

"Please believe me, Penny," Alan begged. "I need someone to believe me. None of my brothers do. Grandma doesn't. Tin-Tin doesn't. Kyrano doesn't… Scott refuses to discuss it with Brains…"

Bewildered, Lady Penelope stared at him. "Believe what, Alan?"

He appeared to be dredging up the confidence to tell her. "I saw… Inside that room… At first I didn't believe it myself…"

"Alan?" Lady Penelope pressed.

"Dad was in there."

Parker made an inarticulate sound.

Alan watched as the aristocrat tried to absorb this bit of information. "I'm sorry, Alan. I don't think I understood you."

"Dad… My father… Jefferson Tracy was being held captive in that room!"

"Jeff?" For a moment Lady Penelope threatened to lose her cool. "You must have been mistaken."

"I thought so at first, but then someone cracked me on the skull and I lost consciousness…"

"Ah," Lady Penelope said, and sat back.

"Don't be like that. I swear that it's not some kind of repressed memory or something. I saw him! Penny! I saw my father!"

"All right, Alan," Lady Penelope tried to calm him down. "What happened then?"

"When I came to I was locked in the same room as Dad. He was talking to me, asking me to wake up, telling me I was going be all right. He touched me, Penny! I felt him touch me!"

"He touched you," Lady Penelope agreed cautiously.

"He put my hand against his face so I would know that it was him! He needs a shave!"

Lady Penelope nodded. "Then what happened?"

Alan looked a trifle guilty. "I thought I was seeing a ghost. I backed away from him. I didn't want him near me. I was saying that he was dead. He thought I was delirious because of the knock on my head and so did I. He tried to convince me that he wasn't a figment of my imagination. For proof I asked him to tell me something that only my father would know. And he did! It was my father! I saw Dad, Penny, and no one believes me! He's alive! He's been hurt, he's in danger and no one believes me! Please help me, Penny! I can't turn to anyone else, they don't believe me!"

Lady Penelope sat forward in concern. Alan was sounding more than desperate. His eyes were brimming as if he was either on the verge of tears of frustration… or a nervous breakdown.

"Help me, Penny! Please help Dad!"

"What do you want me to do?"

Relief and hope spread over his face. "We need to find him. They won't let me leave the island alone and no one will come with me. The lawyer wants us all to sign away the island so it can be sold. I won't do it! Not while Dad's still alive."

"How did you 'escape' from your father's prison?"

"They released me. They figured that someone with a hole in his head wouldn't be believed." A bitter laugh escaped. "They were right."

"Did they know you were Jeff's son?"

"No… I don't think so. I figure they thought that no one would believe that I had seen Jeff Tracy or anyone held captive. Not when they'd so willingly handed me back for medical help."

Lady Penelope thought for a moment.

Alan slapped his forehead. "I've just remembered what it was that Dad said that was so important. He told me his finances are fine; that he's in better shape than he's ever been."

"Better shape?"

"We're not broke. We're not in debt. We don't have to sell the island… It's all a scam!"

"A scam?" Lady Penelope echoed again.

"Penny, I think Brett's in on it…" Then Alan already pale face paled further. "Oh, no! What have I done?"

"Alan?"

"I've ruined everything," he groaned.

"How do you mean everything?"

"I've ruined all we've worked for. I've exposed International Rescue to a criminal!"

"Alan," Lady Penelope spoke in a soothing voice. "Calm down and explain to me why you think that."

Alan took a deep breath. "When I refused to sign the papers everyone started ganging up on me. I guess lost my head a little and started yelling that I'd seen Dad. If Brett's involved he's going to know that someone from International Rescue had seen Dad. If he puts two and two together…"

"But hasn't Mr Brett been your father's lawyer…"

"…Since I before I was born, yeah I know. But I still think he's in on it. He's got to be. Why else would he be so convinced that we have to sell…" His face cleared as realisation hit. "The island! That's it! That must be the reason for the kidnapping! It's not for money, or Tracy Industries, or the jet. Brett wants Tracy Island for himself! What if he's always known we're International Rescue? What if he's after all our equipment? Imagine what it could mean to the world if we let him get his hands on it!"

"Is that possible that he knows?"

"I wouldn't have thought so. I'm pretty sure Dad never confided in him. But if he doesn't know, why is he so desperate to get his hands on it that'd he'd kidnap Dad and put us through all this pain?"

Lady Penelope decided that she didn't have the answer to that question. "What else did your father say?"

For the first time Alan looked unsure about his tale. "I don't really know… My head was hurting pretty bad and I was in shock at seeing Dad. They didn't give me a long time with him and then they gave me some kind of knock out gas so that I seemed dopier than I really was. Then they took me back to Mobile Control… I tried to tell Scott that Dad was inside but he didn't believe me." He looked deep into Lady Penelope's eyes as his voice went quiet. "You've got to help me, Penny. I'm going crazy over this. You've either got to find evidence that proves Dad is still alive, or…" She saw a flicker of doubt in his expression. "…Please, Penny. I need proof."

"Your father was a good man and so are you. Out of respect for both of you I will try to find the evidence you require."

She saw the young man relax. "Thanks," he said. "I knew I could trust you. Just having someone who beli… is willing to meet me half way is a great relief. I know that if anyone can find my father, it will be Lady Penelope."

Lady Penelope smiled. "I hope your confidence in me is not misplaced, Alan. Now tell me everything."

Alan outlined everything that he thought was of importance before signing off. "Don't tell the guys. They'll tell you it's all my imagination because of this bump on the head and tell you not to waste your time."

"I promise I won't let anyone stop me from helping you, Alan."

"Thank you. Call me if you need to know anything…"

Parker removed the teapot from the television's cabinet as his mistress bit her lip reflectively. "What do you think, Madam? 'As the poor kid lost his marbles?"

"I don't know, Parker."

"H-It would not be surprisin'. Livin' a lie h-as that family does. H'And isolated out there in the middle of that ocean. Not h-everyone can 'andle that... Goin' fast all the time can't be good for a kid 'is age neither… And to lose 'is father sudden like. H-It's probably tipped 'im h-over the h-edge."

"Perhaps, Parker," Lady Penelope said thoughtfully. "Except that out of all of the boys Alan appeared to be the only one handling Jeff's passing relatively well."

"You think h-it's a joke?" Parker looked aghast at the idea.

"I would doubt it very much. Alan may be a little immature at times, but this is such a sensitive issue for the whole family that I doubt that even the thought of such a ruse would cross his mind."

Parker returned to his original hypothesis. "So 'e 'as flipped 'is lid."

"Maybe…" Lady Penelope sat upright in her chair. "Get me Scott will you."

"M'Lady? H-I thought you'd agreed not to tell Mister Scott."

"I promised Alan that I won't let anyone stop me from helping him, and that includes Scott Tracy. I shall require all the facts surrounding Jeff's, ah, 'death', and Scott is the person to give me those facts. Don't worry. I won't let him talk me into breaking my promise to Alan."

Scott was surprised to see Lady Penelope. "Oh! Hi, Penny."

"Can we talk, Scott?"

"Yeah. Mr Brett's just left. He's not happy."

Lady Penelope could see how drawn the eldest Tracy son was. He looked to have lost more weight. "I understand you've been having a spot of bother, Scott."

"You've heard what?"

"I've just had Alan call me."

"Oh," Scott slumped. "I don't know what to do with him. He's got this delusion that Father's still alive and we can't talk sense into him. Apart from the fact that I'm worried about him, it's creating problems."

"He won't sell the island?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I don't want to do it, Penny, none of us do. But what else can we do? We've got this humungous debt to pay off."

"Who is your estate agent?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Some guy Mr Brett knows."

"Well before you agree to use him as the sole agent, I know a few agents that have sold the estates of friends of mine; they might give you a better deal."

Scott gave a grim smile. "Thanks. But we've already got a buyer." He lost the smile and clenched his fist in frustration. "What's really sad is that I thought Alan was coping the best of all of us."

"Scott?"

He looked at her for in a moment of honest sadness. "No… I can't lay that on you too."

Lady Penelope left the subject. "Now, dear boy, I want you to keep your temper?"

This instruction surprised Scott. "Okay."

"I've agreed to do a bit of investigation work for Alan…"

"Investigation work… Look, Penny…"

"The poor boy's desperate. He needs evidence and he needs my help. I've agreed to find evidence, whatever it is. What I want from you is your assurance that you won't push Alan or let him know that you know… I think that he'll accept whatever I find, which may be as simple as that he saw someone who looks like your father; but I don't want him thinking that I'm acting for you and not for him. I also need all the information you have on the accident."

"Penny, you're wasting your time," Scott protested.

"Moping around Creighton-Ward Manor is wasting my time. Supporting Alan is not."

"I can't believe that he contacted you over this crazy story…"

"It's clearly real to him…"

"He should never have contacted you!" Scott was starting to get angry. "Don't worry about it, Penny. I won't have him sending you out on wild goose chases. I'll go and straighten him out!" He stood. "I'll take care of this…"

"No, Scott! Don't you dare say a word to him about it!"

"But he's gone too far this time… Spinning you this 'Father's still alive' line."

"Except that he doesn't believe that it's a line… He thinks it's the truth!"

"The truth? The truth is that all the evidence points to Father having been on that plane. The truth is that my father died in a plane crash. The truth is that Alan needs to get the real truth into his thick head and not annoy you or anyone else over it."

"I want to help," Lady Penelope insisted. "I would like to help you all, but so far Alan is the only one who has asked for assistance. And since he's asked, I am going to give him all the assistance I can."

"Penny… He's a mixed up kid who needs to be put straight on a few matters…"

"He's not one of your sub-ordinates in the Air Force, Scott! You can't tell him to shape up or ship out. This is your brother we're talking about and he is grieving for his father…"

"It may have escaped your notice, Lady Penelope, but it's my father who's died too! I'm grieving! But you don't see me coming up with wild stories."

"You're not coping well either! Look at you!"

Scott drew himself up. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Nothing wrong…? You're acting so out of character that I don't know you any more. The Scott Tracy I knew would have put aside his own grief and done everything in his power to support his family. He would have drawn them together, not allowed them to drift apart."

Scott sat down again. "What am I supposed to do? I can't afford to pay back the debt by myself…!"

"The Scott Tracy I knew would never have allowed his brothers to harm themselves the way they are at present…"

"Harm themselves?"

"Scott Tracy would have buried his own anger and done everything he could to help his family get through this!"

Scott had heard enough. "Maybe that Scott Tracy died when a plane crashed into a mall in Kansas."

"I can't believe that. I believe that somewhere under all that grief the old Scott Tracy is hiding."

"Hiding from what, Lady Penelope? What you don't seem to understand is that things have changed. Now I'm the head of this household and I've got to do what's best for everyone. And what's best means selling the island so we can make a new start. And if that idiotic youngest brother of mind can't see that…"

"Give him time…"

"We don't have time…"

"Twenty four hours isn't going to hurt…"

"Twenty-four hours? Do you know who many times International Rescue's been out on a call and would have killed for 24 hours to complete a rescue? A lot can happen in 24 hours. A dam can break, a volcano can explode, and a potential problem solving buyer could get tired of waiting and go away; leaving us in a worse mess than we were in 24 hours earlier. Is that what Alan wants? Is that what you want?"

"What Alan wants is your love and support. All he's asking for is some evidence either way. Out of respect for him and your father I have agreed to find that evidence."

"Evidence! I'll give you evidence!" Scott began sorting through a sheath of papers before slamming them all into a facsimile machine. The papers crushed at one end and with a snarl he reversed them. "They've found evidence of tissue samples, they've found evidence of hair samples, they've found DNA samples. There's the evidence of the airfield superintendent who saw Father climb into his plane and take off. There's the evidence from the control tower that no one parachuted out of that plane! What further evidence does he need?! Read it and you'll see!" Furious he pushed the direct dial button for her fax and was further infuriated when the machine rang but couldn't make contact. "I've unplugged it! Here! I'll email it through to you." He forwarded the required email to her with a few clicks. "Read it, Penny! Read it and see if we're wrong!" He glowered at the computer.

Lady Penelope decided that it would be wise to end the conversation on a conciliatory note. "Thank you, Scott. I know this is hard for you, but perhaps things aren't as bad as you think. If you would allow me to look at your father's accounts, I might be able to help."

Scott stared at her. "Look at the accounts?"

"Though I'm sure you've already looked through them thoroughly…"

Scott shook his head. "No. I haven't had time."

Lady Penelope wasn't expecting that answer. "What have you been doing?"

"Going through International Rescue's paperwork!" Scott's already hot temper was growing hotter.

"International Rescue's? When your personal finances are in such turmoil?"

"Mr Brett's explained it to us. If he couldn't get it right, who could?" Scott snapped. "You?"

"Maybe I'll discover something that will mean that at least you won't have to sell the island. One of my few talents is accountancy; it's how I've managed to keep the Creighton-Ward Manor…"

"That and the exorbitant salary my father paid you," Scott interrupted. "Just remember we can't afford to pay you this time."

This was the last straw. "I am not asking for payment for this, Scott Tracy! I am doing this because Jeff was a good man and a good friend and I do not wish to see his family disadvantaged in any way. I am doing this because Alan needs my help, NOT for any monetary reasons…"

"Lady Penelope…!"

"…I will talk to you some time in the future! AFTER I have found what Alan requires…!" Lady Penelope turned off the TV.

"Madam!" Parker's respectful address was accusing.

"That did not go well," Lady Penelope admitted. She ran her hand across her eyes. "It is obvious that Jeff's passing has affected me more than I had realised." She arose from her chair. "We shall leave for Kansas immediately, Parker. Make the booking to the United States. I will study the accident reports on the flight."

"Yes, Madam."

"And arrange for FAB4 to be flown to Kansas. We may need her."

"Yes, Madam."

---F-A-B---

Scott glared at Lady Penelope's portrait long after it had reverted back to its original, static form. How dare she!? Stuck up, toffee-nosed, female. What right did this woman have to tell HIM how to run his own family? What right did she have to go over his head? What right…"

As the anger seeped out of his system he felt saddened and then ashamed. What right did he have to tell her to butt out? All Lady Penelope was trying to do was help the whole family and Scott knew full well that they all needed help.

The realisation hit him like a brick. They'd have to do something to snap out of this depression that they'd all fallen into, and fast; before they drifted so far apart that they'd never be able to bridge the gulf between them.

Scott decided that as the self appointed leader of the household, he should be the one to begin building that bridge. He'd start by talking to the brother that he'd always felt closest to… If the brother was willing to listen…

Scott walked into the kitchen. "I thought I'd find you here."

Virgil, standing in one of the walk-in pantries, started guiltily as he removed some snack bars from off the shelf. "Why?"

"Because, these last few days, if you haven't been wiring up Thunderbird Two, you've been eating. How much do you weigh now?"

"What does that matter?"

"It could affect your health, it could affect your work, and…" Scott pulled on the elastic waistband of Virgil's trousers, "your clothes don't fit"

"You can't talk!" Virgil had decided that the best form of defence was attack. "Your clothes are hanging off you! You've had to put another hole in your belt to keep your trousers up! How much have you lost?"

Scott side-stepped the question. "I asked you first."

"Well, be prepared to reciprocate."

"How much, Virgil?" Scott demanded.

Virgil glared at his brother as if trying to think of a counter-attack. Then he shrugged in defeat. "Four kilos…"

"Four k…! Virgil! It's only been four days!"

"Now you tell me, Scott! How much have you lost? Don't tell me you don't know, because I know you weigh yourself religiously." Virgil's brown eyes were boring into Scott's blue ones.

Scott looked away. "Fimmkmgmm," he muttered.

"What? I didn't hear you!"

"I said four kilograms, okay!" Scott flared up. "Though what it's got to do with you…!"

Virgil's reply was just as heated. "You're my brother; it's got everything to do with me!"

"Well I don't…!" Scott pulled himself up short. This kind of exchange was precisely what he was trying to prevent. "I'm sorry, Virgil. I shouldn't snap at you."

Surprised, Virgil accepted the apology. He leant back against the pantry's shelves and sighed. "What's wrong with us?" He opened a bag of chips.

"I don't know," Scott admitted over the sound of crunching. "I don't know why I keep getting angry. I yell and then I think, 'why did I do that? Why did I just hurt someone who's hurting as much as I am?' And I never know the answer."

"I've tried to work out why I'm hungry all the time, and all that I've concluded is that I feel that a part of me is missing… And I guess I'm trying to fill the hole," Virgil admitted. "But knowing that hasn't helped. Look at this." He pulled at a cardboard carton. One muesli bar slid down its length. "I hate these things, but I'm the one eating them. There was a full carton before I started. I'll be doing something and all of a sudden I'll think, 'Yuk! Sawdust', and realise that I'm eating one of these bars. But even then I can't stop myself from finishing it off. Odds on I'll have eaten that one by the end of the day…" He slumped back against the shelf. "And then I look at you and wonder why aren't you eating at all?"

"Because you're eating enough for the two of us and I'm trying to save money." Scott immediately felt ashamed of himself as his feeble joke caused a hurt expression to cross Virgil's face. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say," he admitted. "I just don't feel hungry. And I want to keep busy. I want to stop myself analysing how I feel; how we're spinning out of control… How scared I am…"

"Scared?" Virgil stared at his elder brother. "You?"

Scott nodded. "Before Alan's accident I was scared that maybe someone was going to get hurt. Before we read the will I was scared that I wasn't going to be as good as Father at running International Rescue. And now that Alan's been hurt; now that we're going to have to disband International Rescue, I'm scared that I'm failing him."

"You're not failing him, Scott. He wouldn't expect you to work miracles."

"A part of me keeps saying, 'what if somehow, somewhere, it's my fault that we're having to sell the island? What if I should have taken a more active role in his affairs?"

"I think we're all thinking that at the moment. We're all guilty of ignoring that side of our lives. I suppose we've all subconsciously assumed that the money would always be there for us; falling out of the sky. The debt isn't your fault." Virgil gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't be scared. We have complete faith in you. We always have and always will."

"And there's one other thing I'm scared of," Scott finished his recitation. "I'm scared that I'm not going to be able to keep us together."

Virgil grimaced. "We're in a bad way aren't we? All of us."

"Yes we are," Scott agreed. "And I want to stop being scared." He straightened slightly. "I think it's time we did something about it. I want the four of us to talk. Maybe then we can start getting back to something resembling normality?"

"Four?"

"You, me, John and Gordon."

"What about Alan?"

"He's part of the reason why we've got to do something. Maybe if we four can start to get on with our lives again, then maybe he'll be able to forget this crazy story of his."

"It might not be that easy. I think he really believes that he saw Father."

"I know. But forgetting about Alan for a moment; we can't carry on like this, can we?"

"No," Virgil agreed. "We can't. But where do we start?"

"By finding Gordon and John…"

They found John in bed. Scott had forced open his bedroom door when he didn't answer their knock.

"Hey!" John complained. "What's the big idea?!" He sat up and put his headphones on his head.

Scott was not impressed. "Will you get rid of those things?!"

"Scott," Virgil said quietly. "Calm down."

"Right…" Scott took a deep breath and tried to get his temper under control. "John," he asked. "Will you come with us for a moment? We all need to talk."

"Huh?" John adjusted the headphones.

Trying to maintain his cool; Scott repeated his request.

John frowned and looked between his two brothers.

"Please, John," Virgil pleaded.

"You want us to talk?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "Do you remember how?"

"Scott…" Virgil rolled his eyes heavenwards in exasperation.

"Why?" John asked.

"You've got to admit that we all need help," Virgil explained. "We're hoping that by talking we'll be able to help each other."

"Get dressed," Scott ordered. "We'll meet you by the pool."

John looked between his brothers again. "Okay," he agreed.

---F-A-B---

Gordon, as expected, was swimming laps of the pool. Scott and Virgil watched him until John, now fully clothed but still wearing his headphones, arrived in the courtyard.

Gordon turned for another lap.

"Wait, Gordon!" Scott ordered.

Gordon stopped. "What?"

"Get out of…! Ah…" Scott made a conscious adjustment to his attitude. "Would you mind coming onto dry land for a minute?"

Gordon's expression clearly read that he did mind. Nevertheless his curiosity got the better of him and he acquiesced to his brother's request.

John adjusted his headphones and then removed them from his head. He held them tightly in his hand.

Virgil leant on the back of a deck chair and waited. He bit into a chocolate chip cookie and brushed the crumbs off the seat.

"Well I'm here," Gordon said. "Make it quick."

Now that he'd called the informal meeting Scott didn't know where to begin. "It's been a rough few days," he said awkwardly.

None of his brothers said anything, but each of them gave a slight nod of agreement.

"But it's time we got over it. Father would be horrified if he knew the way we've been behaving."

He received the minuscule nod in triplicate again.

"And we're not helping Alan carrying on this way."

"Alan," Gordon said. "He needs real help."

"He does," Scott agreed. "I've just had an argument with Lady Penelope over him."

Virgil blinked. "You did what?"

"You must have a death wish!" Gordon exclaimed. "We'll be planning your funeral next…" He realised what he had said and reddened. "I'm sorry."

"See! That's what I mean," Scott told them all. "We used to always make comments like that to each other, and never thought anything of it. You shouldn't be sorry, Gordon."

"Yeah," John nodded his agreement.

"I have a theory," Scott began slowly, "that we might be at least part of the reason why Alan's behaving the way he is."

Gordon scratched his head. "How do you mean?"

"I'm no psychologist, but I'm wondering if somehow the bump on the head has caused him to reason that things were okay when Father was alive… That was when we behaved 'normally'."

"And if Father were to come back to life, then we'd be 'normal' again?" Virgil asked.

Scott nodded. "And… I think… we can help by trying to pull ourselves together, starting today. Virgil, you've got to stop eating so much. Gordon, you can't spend all day in the pool. And, John, it would be really nice if you would talk to us in complete sentences."

"And you, Scott?" Gordon asked.

"I've got to start trying to eat, and I've got to stop biting everyone's heads off…"

"Probably why you haven't been hungry," Gordon managed to quip. Then he became serious. "How?"

"We've got to support each other and try to make an effort to break these negative habits." Scott held out his hand to Virgil. "Give me your apple."

Virgil looked down at the piece of fruit that he'd picked up on the way out of the kitchen. "You're going to make me set the example, are you?" he asked as he handed it over.

"No," Scott replied. "I'm going to set the example." He weighed the apple in his hands. "I really don't want this."

His brothers watched him as he tentatively took a small bite.

"You okay?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah," Scott managed a small smile and took another, slightly larger bite, chewing slowly. He swallowed. "Look, maybe if we tried to talk through our concerns it will be easier for us all. Let's go up to the lookout. We won't be disturbed there…"

_To be continued…_


	10. Memories

_A quick apology before we begin. I'm on holiday for the weekend and I'm going somewhere with no electricity, let alone an Internet connection, so this will be the last chapter for a couple of days. I figured that this was a good, long chapter to leave you with, so I loaded it while I was having a break at work. _

_Quiller has threatened to sell the next two chapters on e-bay, but she was only joking... I think._

_Anyway, sorry for the 'break in transmission', and thanks so far to all those who have taken the time to send me reviews and messages. I'm glad that you seem to be enjoying reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you haven't gone through too many tissues._

_FAB (and sorry again)_

_See you Monday evening. _

:-)

_Purupuss  
_

* * *

**10 Ten: Memories**

Alan lay on his bed alone in his room and tried to rest his pounding head, but his thoughts wouldn't let him. Had he done the right thing in calling Lady Penelope? She'd seemed willing to at least consider the idea that his father was alive, but was she only humouring him? What if she was on the phone to Scott now, telling him that Alan needed professional help and demanding to know why Scott wasn't doing something about it? To tell the truth Alan didn't know why Scott hadn't done something. It was pretty obvious that no one in the family believed him and had thought he'd gone insane.

Alan thought again about Lady Penelope. He'd always admired and respected her, and he'd hoped that she'd regarded him in the same way. What if she now regarded him as a crazy idiot? What if she was just like everyone else in his family?

But then what if his father was alive, in pain and in danger?

---F-A-B---

Virgil reached the lookout with a groan, rolled onto the ground and lay there on his back letting the hot sun caress his face. "That path never used to be that steep."

Scott crouched down beside him. "Are you okay?"

Virgil nodded, his arm over his eyes, shielding them from the sun.

"Good." Scott stood, and the world appeared to spin about him. "Whoa!" He leant forward, hands on his knees.

Virgil sat up. "Are you okay?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. Got a little dizzy there." He flopped down beside Virgil.

"You two do realise what your problems are, don't you?" Gordon asked.

Scott craned his head so he could view his brother who was sitting comfortably on the wooden seat; positioned to maximise the view. "We know."

Virgil felt in a pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. "Here, eat this. Get your blood sugar levels up." He handed it to Scott.

"Haven't you got something healthier? Where's that sawdust bar?"

"In the pantry."

"No it's not. You put it in that pocket."

Virgil reached into the pocket that Scott had indicated and pulled out the muesli bar. "See! I told you I'd do that!"

Scott pulled the wrapper of the bar and looked about him as he bit into it. The lookout was a raised, lichen covered, rocky area on one of the outflows from the volcano that formed the body of the island. Straight ahead was the unending expanse of the blue Pacific Ocean. Below they could see the buildings of the complex that formed their present home. To their right the Round House was visible on the skyline and down to the left they could make out the end of the island's runway. "Father used to love it up here."

John was standing on the edge of the lookout gazing out to sea; his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He nodded.

"You're right, Scott, he did," Gordon agreed.

John turned his back on the ocean and sat down on a convenient rock. He picked up a stick and started scratching into the thin layer of dirt on the ground. "We should name it after him."

His brothers were silent for a moment as they absorbed his idea: and the fact that he had spoken.

"Jefferson Lookout," Gordon tried out. "That sounds right. Let's do it. You can make a sign, Virgil."

"The only problem," Scott noted. "Is that whoever takes over the island will change the name."

"So!" Gordon sounded obstinate. "We'll write into the contract that it's not to be changed. As a memorial to our father."

"And future generations will think it's a memorial to Thomas Jefferson or someone else!"

"Calm down, Scott," Virgil said quietly. "I think it's a good idea."

"I am calm!" Scott snapped. Then he caught himself. "Sorry, fellas."

There was silence again.

"Aren't we meant to be talking?" Gordon asked. "I could be in the pool. You're the one who dragged us up here, Scott. Say something."

"Okay," Scott said. "Why are we all behaving the way we have been? Why have we suddenly become so… so…"

"Nuts?" Gordon finished.

"I was thinking more along the lines of insular."

No one had the answer to the question, so no one replied.

Virgil reached into one of his many pockets for something to eat. "Know what I miss?" he asked rhetorically, his eyes still closed against the sun. "His presence. Even when he was away on business, or I was someplace else, I always felt that he was there. He was only a videocall away." He bit into an apple.

"Our lodestar has disappeared," John said.

"Lodestar," Scott mused. "You're right. That's what he was to us. A constant beacon in our lives."

"I keep expecting to see him sitting at his desk," Gordon admitted. "Always with some piece of paper in his hand. It could be work or it could be a newspaper, but there was always something."

"He'd be heartbroken if he knew we had to sell the island," Virgil said. "It's hard to believe that he was in such a poor financial position, and we didn't even know."

Gordon agreed. "It still doesn't seem quite real does it?"

"No." Virgil shifted so that a rock in the ground wasn't digging into his shoulder blades. "It doesn't. And Alan saying that it's not real doesn't make it any easier."

"Fellas," Scott began slowly. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but Alan's asked Penny to look for Father."

At once he had the undivided attention of all three brothers. Virgil's eyes snapped open and he sat up so he could look at Scott clearly. "He's done what!"

"That's crazy!" Gordon exclaimed. "Did he tell you this?"

"No, Penny did. She said that she thinks that he's trying to convince himself, as much as us, that he's not crazy. She said that she thinks that he'll go along with whatever she finds."

"And when she finds that the facts don't lie?" Virgil asked.

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm telling you three this because I want you all… I want US all to go easy on him. When she gets the evidence he's going to need all our support. Don't let's push him away now."

"Evidence! What more evidence does he need?" Gordon asked. "There's witnesses, forensic evidence, audio evidence… What on earth could Penny find that the authorities, with all their resources, couldn't?"

"Penny did suggest that maybe he saw someone who looked like Father," Scott said. "If she can find this man…"

"Someone who needs a shave," Gordon added.

"…That might be the end of it," Scott finished.

"I hope so," Virgil said. "It's hard enough letting go without Alan carrying on."

"So let's make a start now," Scott suggested. "Let's get him up here. We'll show him that we're starting to pull ourselves together. And no one is to mention the sale of the island, or what Alan saw, or anything like that. Okay?"

"Can we do that?" Gordon asked. "Can we pretend to be what might be loosely called 'normal'?"

"Can we at least try?" Scott asked. "Even the idea that we are trying to get ourselves together again, might be enough to get Alan back on track. Are you all willing to try? Because I am."

He received three replies in the affirmative.

"How are you going to get him up here?" Virgil asked. "He's going to think that we'll only want to bully him into selling the island."

"Leave that to me." Scott raised his wristwatch so he was able to see the dial. "Are you reading me, Alan?"

After a moment's pause, his brother's pale, uncertain face appeared in the screen. "Scott?"

"How are you feeling, Kid?"

"I'm… I'm okay."

"We're up at the lookout; just shooting the breeze. And we've decided to name the place 'Jefferson Lookout', since Father liked it here so much. What do you think?"

There was another pause as Alan tried to get his mind around what his brother was saying. "'Jefferson Lookout'?"

"Yes. Do you think he would approve?"

"He'd… He'd probably be embarrassed by the idea," Alan eventually said.

Scott appeared to consider his brother's words. "True… But then it would be five against one… That's if you agree."

"I do," Alan nodded. "But since when have the five of us been able to overrule Dad?"

"We live in a democracy…" Scott began.

Gordon laughed. "Democracy? Dictatorship is more like it."

Scott brushed his brother's comment to one side. "Anyway, we're struggling to decide on the best place to put the sign…"

"The sign?" Alan asked.

"The one Virgil's going to paint. The one reading: 'Jefferson Lookout'," Scott told him. "Virgil and I think it should be at the top of the path. Gordon and John think beside the seat would be better. We need your casting vote."

"Mine?"

Scott nodded. "Like I said. This is a democracy. So why don't you grab a hoverbike and come up and tell us what you think?"

Alan thought briefly. His head was still hurting, but the fresh air might do it good. And he liked the idea of naming the lookout. When his father came home it would be a tangible sign of what their parent meant to them. "Okay. Be with you shortly."

Scott lowered his arm and grinned at his brothers. "Just got to know which buttons to push."

"Actually, I think it would look better over there," Gordon pointed to the very edge where the lookout dropped away down a steep cliff.

"So, you've got him up here," Virgil was telling Scott. "Now how do we prove that we're slipping back into normality… whatever that is?"

"Gordon's made a start," Scott reminded him. "He's not in the pool…"

"I'd like to be, though," Gordon admitted. "If I couldn't see the ocean I'd be passing Alan on the way down."

"You won't though, will you, Gordon?" Scott asked. "Please?"

Gordon nodded. "I'm okay at the moment."

"We've all done a little acting in our time," Scott said. "Pretend that you don't feel compelled to do whatever it is you're compelled to do. And if you see someone slipping, give them a nudge to remind them."

"And don't bite our heads off when we do." Gordon was looking pointedly at Scott.

"Maybe we'll be like that song in the 'King and I'," Virgil suggested, and began singing. "_'The result of this deception - is very strange to tell. For when I fool the people I fear, I fool myself as well.'_"

Gordon groaned. "Quick! Someone get him his piano! Anything to shut him up!"

Virgil screwed up his nose at his younger brother. "At least I can hold a tune… Unlike some I could mention."

There was a low hum from down on the path. They heard it get steadily louder until a hoverbike poked its nose over the brow of the hill.

Alan looked at his brothers in an uncertain manner and dismounted the 'bike. "Where did you want to put these signs?"

"Virgil and I vote for there," Scott pointed to beside the hoverbike. "John and Gordon were plugging for beside the seat, though Gordon's just changed his mind to over by the edge. What do you think?"

"I don't know," Alan admitted. "They all have their good points."

"I think Gordon's made a good suggestion," Virgil noted. "Though I'd bring it in a bit so it doesn't get blown away. That way, wherever you are on the lookout admiring the view, you'd see the sign and remember who it's named after."

"Sounds okay to me," Scott amended his vote. "How about you, John?"

John nodded. "Okay."

"Alan?"

"I like the idea. I think Dad would approve."

"Good!" Scott sounded cheerful. "That's settled then."

"Let's have something to celebrate," Virgil suggested, digging into his pockets. "I've nothing stronger than chocolate bars. Will that suit everyone?" He handed them out, tossing them to his brothers.

Alan stared at the one that he'd caught. Then he looked at Scott who appeared to be enjoying munching on his chocolate. Then he turned his attention to Virgil, who wasn't eating. "Aren't you having one?"

"No," Virgil said. "I've decided that I need to go on a diet." He tapped his abdomen. "If I gain any more weight I'll have to start wearing Scott's clothes."

Alan stared at him as John laughed.

Scott took advantage of his youngest brother's preoccupation and slipped the remains of his chocolate into his pocket.

"If you want, Virg, I'll be your personal trainer," Gordon offered. "You can use the pool for a change."

Virgil smiled. "Thanks, Gordon."

Alan stared at the both of them.

Scott leant back on his arms. "Remember how Father always came up here after he'd been away on business?"

"Or if he wanted to unwind after we'd had a particularly horrendous rescue," Gordon added.

John was lying on his back, gazing up at the clouds that were floating gently across the blue Pacific sky. "I remember," he began, "though it seems so long ago now..."

"John…?" Alan started saying. He stopped when Scott made a hurried gesture.

"…When I found Lucille," John continued on as if he were unaware of the interruption, "I asked Dad if he thought I should name it after Ma. He said she'd be proud to have a star named after her... I wonder if there's a star up there waiting to be called Jefferson?"

There was silence as his brothers absorbed what he said and waited to see if there was more.

John appeared to be content to continue his inspection of the heavens.

"I'm sure there is, John," Scott said. "It's waiting for you to find it."

Gordon nudged John with his toe. "Welcome back," he said, with more affection than he'd shown over the last few days.

John looked at him. "Thanks."

Alan sat on the ground beside him at stared at his siblings in disbelief.

"So," Gordon said, "he's going to get a star and a lookout named after him. What else can we do to honour him?"

"A concert?" Virgil suggested. "We could all participate."

"You just want an excuse to play the piano in front of an audience," Scott accused. He slapped Virgil on the leg and pointed to the snack bar that had crept 'unbidden' into Virgil's hand. Virgil gave a sigh of frustration and shoved it back into his pocket.

"No singing," Gordon said.

"Agreed," Virgil nodded. "No singing. Not by any of us, anyway. Except maybe you, John?"

"No."

"But you were good!"

John diverted the conversation away from an awkward subject. "I wish we could tell the world that he was the man behind International Rescue."

"Yes," Gordon agreed. "Dad deserves recognition for setting up the organisation."

"We can't do that!" Scott exclaimed. "Think of the problems it would cause us! Think of the security issues! Think of…"

"We've thought of all that, Scott," Gordon interrupted. "But don't you wish we could tell the world? Somehow so they wouldn't suspect us?"

John reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. "You could read this at the concert." He handed the page to Scott. "It's not very good."

Scott unfolded the paper and read what was written on it. "You're wrong, John. It's perfect. Listen, fellas:

_You gave us wings;  
You taught us to fly;  
You gave us the world;  
And gave the world hope.  
Your dream will live on forever.  
We will strive to make you proud.  
As we look to the moon and see you;  
As we listen to thunder and hear you;  
We shall always honour and remember you -  
Jefferson Tracy._"

Silence followed as the brothers absorbed the words.

"Nice one, John," Gordon eventually commented.

Scott looked back at the author. "I shouldn't be the one to read this. You should."

"No."

"Okay," Virgil said. "We've got John's poem. We've got music. What else? Maybe something more dramatic?"

"Think of all the school plays Dad had to sit through," Gordon said. "With all five of us going through stages of wanting to be on the… ah… stage, how many shows did he go to watch? He must have been bored to tears."

"He never complained though, did he?" Scott said.

"I saw him nodding off during one of Virgil's once," Gordon chuckled.

"He didn't," Virgil protested. "He told me later that the lights were hurting his eyes."

His brothers laughed. "Yeah, sure."

"Patience…" Scott mused. "He had patience by the barrow load. He'd have to, to deal with five sons."

"How many times did he run around those tennis courts, holding onto our bicycles until we got our balance?" Gordon asked.

"I don't know how many times he did for me," Scott said.

"I remember," Alan said, "that when he let go of me I got such a shock that I fell off."

"I've got to admit, Alan," Scott exchanged looks with his other brothers, "so did I."

"Remember that puppy we had?" Gordon slid off the seat and onto the ground between Alan and Virgil. "Remember how it chewed up his slippers?"

"And that vital report he needed the next day?" Scott recollected.

"And how he got annoyed with us because we'd promised we'd look after it and train it, but didn't," Virgil added.

"That dog was un-trainable," Gordon stated. "I tried to train it to dig up 'Old Grouch's' sunflowers and it wouldn't."

"Gordon!" John admonished.

"I think that, in the end, Dad loved that dog more than we did," Scott said.

"Yes," Virgil remembered. "He was pretty upset when it died."

"Remember that time he took us to 'Fun-World'?" Alan asked. "And John threw up on the 'Rocket-To-Mars' ride. And Dad had to clean it up?"

"Too many hot-dogs," John informed him.

"Is that why you never have them before you go to Thunderbird Five?" Gordon asked. "I also remember that he'd no sooner finished cleaning you up when one of those man-in-a-suit characters threw a water bomb at him. He was wetter than you were."

"Remember when he earned his first billion?" John asked. "He was as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning!"

"Yeah," Alan grinned. "He printed off his bank statement and kept on showing it to us. I don't think I'd ever seen a number that big; except in science class."

"That's right!" Scott remembered. "He took us all out to dinner to celebrate. Five teenage boys dressed in their Sunday best at one of the cities flashest restaurants. Remember his toast?"

"That he was excited because he could now start laying the groundwork for his dream?" Virgil said.

"I remember," Gordon chuckled. "I thought he was planning to cruise around the world, not try to save it…"

The afternoon wore on and they continued talking, each of them remembering something about their father, which would then spark a memory in the others. Occasionally someone had to remind Virgil to not eat the snack that found its way into his hand. When that happened he'd pass it over to Scott who'd growl that he wasn't hungry and then, with reluctance, consume it. Sometimes Gordon would lapse into silence as he'd gaze longingly at the ocean, before a topic sparked him into life, while John listened more than talked, and when he talked his brothers listened.

And Alan looked at them all and wondered what had brought about the change.

The five brothers began to relax as the shadows lengthened, and they grew more comfortable in each other's presence. They lay in circle, heads close to one another, in a formation that they had often adopted when they were young. In those days they would talk, watch the clouds, plan mischief, and simply enjoy each other's company. Now they were relearning the bond they'd always had.

"Want to know something that I didn't like about Father?" Virgil eventually said. "At least for a short time; when I was a kid." Four brothers shifted their position so they were able to give him an incredulous stare.

"Didn't like about him?!" Scott asked. "What the heck could you not like about him?"

"His name."

"His name?" John frowned. "Jeff?"

"No, not Jeff. Tracy. There was a time when I hated having the last name of Tracy."

"Why?" Gordon asked.

"Because Tracy is a girl's name."

"You're right, Virg," Alan admitted. "I had a teacher that would call all the boys by their last name, while the girls were called by their first name. It got quite embarrassing at times. I never knew if the question was directed at me or the girl two rows in front."

"But were you guys ever teased over it?" Virgil asked.

Scott turned his head so he could see his brother. "I never had that problem."

"Why does that not surprise me," Virgil stated. "But you try having a surname of Tracy, liking arts and music, and worse still, being saddled with the first name of Virgil…"

Gordon chuckled. "Yes… I can see that causing some problems."

"There was one gang of boys who were a couple of years older than me who made a point of teasing me over my name at least once a day. It got so bad that I dreaded lunch breaks," Virgil remembered. "I'd rather stay in class with the teacher and do school work rather than go outside and face them."

Scott's face was creased in big brotherly concern. "How old were you?"

"About ten."

"You should have told me about that!"

"Why? What could you have done…?" Virgil resumed his narrative. "It came to a head one day. The leader of the gang had been taking karate lessons, well… I think he'd had one, and he thought it made him invincible. So he started doing these 'karate chops' at me."

"Why didn't you walk away?" John asked.

"I couldn't. His friends were surrounding me."

"How many were there?" Gordon asked.

"Um…" Virgil bit his lip as he thought. "Six… I think…"

"Where were your friends?" Alan asked.

"I think they'd decided that discretion was the better part of valour… Anyway; then this kid decided he'd really scare me by attempting to kick me. I don't know what I did. I suppose I must have put my hand up to defend myself just at the moment when he was off balance, because I knocked him to the ground… He landed on his right arm and broke it."

Gordon gave a cheer. "Nice one, Virgil!"

"I didn't feel proud of myself, Gordon. I hadn't wanted to hurt him: mainly because I figured it would make him and his buddies want to hurt me. What made it worse was that one of the teachers had heard there was a fight going on and saw the coup de grace, as it were. I was told to go to the classroom… And then I had to see Mr Carson. Remember him?"

"Oh… yes…" Each of the brothers had strong memories of Mr Carson; a much feared, but fair, member of the teaching staff.

"Mr Carson asked me to explain what had happened, and then he told me that fighting and causing injury to another pupil was a serious matter. He'd have to get my father involved. Well, if I was shivering in my shoes before, I was absolutely terrified when I heard that. I knew Father didn't approve of violence and I figured that he wouldn't take too kindly to one of his sons breaking another kid's arm. I was imagining all kinds of scenarios. I'd be in detention for a year… I'd be grounded for life… I'd never be allowed to take another music lesson… All my painting materials would be taken away from me… And as I waited for Father to arrive my ideas of what my punishment was going to be became even more fanciful. I was going to be separated from you guys – sent away somewhere… I was going to be locked up in jail… I was going to have my hands cut off…"

"That's some imagination you've got, Virg," Scott commented.

"Well, I hadn't been in trouble like that before. By the time Father got there I'd worked myself up into such a lather that I couldn't think straight. But I had decided on one thing. I would never tell him the reason why I was picked on. So what's the first thing I did?"

"Told him?" Alan guessed.

"Yep. He walked in and said, 'what happened, Virgil?' And I replied with, 'Don't call me that! I hate my name!'"

"What did he do?" John asked.

"He was a shocked; as you might imagine. Then he asked me which part and I said both. I didn't like 'Virgil' or 'Tracy'. And then he asked if that was why I'd been fighting. So I told him what had happened."

"Did he believe you?" Gordon asked.

"Yes. Mr Carson confirmed it too. Apparently the teacher who'd caught us had seen more than I'd thought and some of the other kids had backed me up."

"So everything was okay?" Alan asked.

"Well… I remember that Mr Carson left the room at that point. Father looked at me and said, 'Do you really dislike being called Virgil Tracy?' I told him about the teasing and I told him that I wanted to change my name."

"What did he say to that?" Scott asked.

"He apologised for giving me the name 'Virgil' and said that he'd never considered that it could have created problems. He said that while he couldn't change my last name, as I was a part of the family, he'd do me a deal. I could choose a new first name and he'd make sure that everyone used it. Then, after a year, if I wanted to stick with the new name he'd let me change it officially."

"And…?" John asked.

"And I was over the moon. I thought it was a fantastic idea. Then he asked me if I had a new name in mind. I hadn't even thought about it; I'd figured I was stuck with what I'd got. He told me to think about it and let him know what I'd decided…"

"You can't have given it much thought," Gordon stated.

"I did a lot of thinking actually. That evening Father presented me with two books. One was a book of boys' names and their meanings; the other was a kids' version of the biography of Virgil Ivan Grissom. He said that he wanted me to know something about the man that I'd been named after."

"Didn't you find a name you liked?" Scott asked.

"I started going through the names book and I highlighted all those that I thought had some potential. I wanted something not too flowery; something that suited what I thought my personality was like; something that, to me, had positive connotations; and most importantly something I could live with." Virgil laughed. "Would you believe that this book didn't have a meaning for Virgil?"

"No meaning?" Alan exclaimed.

"Yeah. Since then I've found one publication which said it means strong, and some say it means staff bearer, but a lot don't have a meaning for Virgil. Anyway, after a while I got tired of going through lists of names and decided that I'd try to read the biography. I found what I thought were several parallels between Virgil Grissom and myself, such as we were both interested in how things ticked…" Virgil nudged Scott. "Did you know that he'd named his Sabre jet 'Scotty', after his son?"

"I think I do remember you telling me that once."

"And I learnt how he was being mooted as being the first man on the moon: until he was killed when Apollo One caught fire during the training session. He'd never been happy with that craft; he thought it was a lemon: and it killed him."

There was a moments silence as the five Tracys thought about the man who'd died as he, along with two others, tried to escape the burning, sealed space capsule, which had never left the ground.

Alan gave a shudder. "So did reading that book make you decide to keep your name?"

"Yes. I decided that if Virgil was good enough for Virgil Grissom, then it was good enough for me."

"Even though he used the nickname of Gus?" Scott asked.

"I couldn't see myself as a 'Gus'," Virgil admitted. "Or an 'Ivan' either. And it helped that Father asked Kyrano if he would teach me martial arts for self defence. Somehow the word got around the school that Kyrano was a criminal wanted in several countries, and he was teaching me how to kill with my bare hands."

Alan stared at him. "Kyrano? A criminal? He wouldn't hurt a fly! How on earth did they get that idea?"

"I don't know, but I do know that I was never teased again. I'd wish I could thank the person who started the rumour."

"Actually the rumour went that Kyrano was a master criminal, wanted in every country, who could force a person to do his bidding with just a stare from his hypnotic eyes," Scott explained. "I knew I couldn't trust Herbert to get the story straight." He winked at Virgil. "You're welcome."

"You!? You started the rumour?"

"Uh, huh. You don't think I was going to let my little brother get kicked about, did you? Herbert was in your year at school and his older brother, Frank was one of my friends. Herbert told Frank that you were being picked on and Frank told me. I told Frank the story when I knew his little tattle-tale of a brother was listening. It was around the district in a matter of hours. I didn't know that you were teased over your name though. You never told me!"

"I don't tell you everything, Scott."

"What did Dad say when you told him you were keeping your name?" Gordon asked.

"He said he was glad and that he thought I'd made the right decision."

"Have you ever regretted it?" John asked.

"No. In fact every time we've been on a rescue and we've been trying to save a John, or an Alan, or a Gordon or Scott and have been getting totally confused, I've thanked my lucky stars that my name is a bit different." Virgil looked up at the sky, a wistful expression on his face. "I wish I had the chance to thank Father for being so supportive. He always seemed to know the right thing to say and do."

"I know one time when he was lost for words," Alan stated. "Do you remember Bobby Johnson? He was my age. His father worked for Dad, and Bobby stayed at our house a couple of times. Once he was staying with us because his father had gone away on a business trip. Dad had paid so Bobby's mother could go too and the pair of them could make it a working holiday. I think I was fourteen at the time. Anyway, Bobby had left something at his home so he and I went back to get it. While we were there we noticed that the car keys had been left on the table."

Gordon chuckled. "That was asking for trouble. What did you do? Take the engine apart and then find that you couldn't put it together again?"

"No," Alan said casually. "We stole the car." He grinned at his brothers' reactions. "We figured that since it belonged to Bobby's father, and Bobby was going to be in the car…"

"With you driving?" Gordon guessed.

"Yep. We figured that in that case it wouldn't be stealing. We weren't going to go far, just do a couple of laps of Union Road. Remember how long and straight that is?"

His brothers did. They'd all learnt to drive on Union Road.

"And, of course, because of all the kart racing I'd done, I thought I was pretty hot driver…"

"Naturally," Virgil commented.

"Things started to go wrong for us when the Johnsons came home a day early. They thought the car had been stolen so they rang the police. Then they rang Dad to let him know what had happened and he offered to come around to their house to offer them support… While all this was going on Bobby and I were having a great time. The first we knew about the drama that was happening at Bobby's was when a cop car came driving along Union Road and did a U-turn behind us. I got a heck of a fright when I heard the siren and realised that its lights were flashing."

"What did you do?" John asked.

"Panicked," Alan admitted. "I floored it, lost control and crashed into a tree. There was an almighty bang, we were thrown against our seatbelts and the airbags exploded in our faces. One of the tree's branches came through the windscreen." He shook his head at the memory. "I'm telling you, fellas, if I'd been any older and taller, I wouldn't be here now. It passed above me this close." He waved his hand over his head, brushing the tips of his hair.

"But you were both okay?" Scott asked.

"Apart from shock, we were fine." Alan gave a wry grin. "The way the cop approached the car I think he was expecting to find a decapitated body. Instead he found two, very frightened, schoolboys. Next thing we know reinforcements, paramedics and ambulances were turning up from all directions. They cut us out of what was left of the car and into an ambulance to check we weren't hurt…"

"Then what?" Gordon asked.

"Then Dad turned up."

"Uh, oh."

"He must have seen the car and pulled up to find out what had happened," Alan continued. "One of the police officers knew who he was and told him who'd been driving..." He chuckled. "I know what you mean about being terrified when he'd found out, Virg. I wasn't feeling too hot after the crash and when I saw Dad striding over towards us I was sure I was going to be sick! Either that or dead."

"I don't know why he provoked that reaction," Virgil admitted. "He was always fair."

"Probably because he set high standards and expected us all to live up to them," Scott suggested. "We didn't like to feel that we failed him."

"Probably," Alan agreed, before carrying on with his story. "His face was white and I was sure that that was because he was angry with me. I got a heck of a shock when he didn't say anything but grabbed me in a hug instead." The wry grin returned. "I was a fourteen-year-old boy being hugged by his old man. You can imagine my reaction…"

"Extreme embarrassment?" Gordon guessed.

"Nope. I hung onto him like the magnetic grabs against a flat sheet of iron. It was only then that I realised how glad I was that he was my father and that he was there to comfort me. I remember that he gave Bobby a hug too. Then he asked the cops if he could take us home, which were practically the only words I heard him say that day. I stayed in the car as Dad took Bobby inside and spoke to Mr and Mrs Johnson. Then we went home... He was gripping the steering wheel that tightly that his knuckles were white! I almost expected it to disintegrate because he was holding it with such force! But he didn't say a word! I was sure he was only waiting to until we got home; and then he was going to rip into me."

"So, what did he do when you got home?" Scott asked.

"Told me to go to my room, which I did; shivering in my shoes and imagining the worst." Alan grinned at Virgil. "Dad must have told Grandma that I'd been in an accident, but didn't explain whose fault it was, because she came rushing in and started bossing me about. She made me have a bath in Epson Salts so I wouldn't be stiff in the morning, and then she made me get into bed and brought me my dinner. I remember that it was one of my favourites… She was treating me like a hero when I knew I was a villain. I felt so guilty!"

"And Dad?" John asked.

"He came into my room after dinner. I guess he'd cooled off by then. He asked me why we'd done it and if I understood why what we'd done was wrong. He told me that driving a car wasn't like driving a go kart around a track; that driving in the real world was a lot less predictable and that I had to be aware of all possible dangers before I even considered getting behind the wheel of a car. He told me that he'd told the Johnsons that he'd pay for the replacement of the car. Then he asked me if I could think a suitable punishment for what I'd done. I told him I'd pay him back the money for the car."

Scott laughed. "You were going to pay him back? How old were you again?"

"Fourteen," Alan admitted. "Dad laughed too, but I promised him that one day I would repay him."

"And did you?" Virgil asked.

"No… But I will!"

No comment was made by his brothers.

"He was always fair," John agreed. "And he trusted us. If we told him something he always believed us. There were times when that meant a lot."

"Why do I get the feeling you're thinking of one particular time, John?" Scott asked.

"It was while I was with the Space Agency," John admitted. "I don't think Dad had told us about his plans for International Rescue at that point, but he must have had them in mind. If I'd known I would never have gone to that book signing session…"

"Your first or second book?" Virgil asked.

"Second. Book signing sessions were always boring. Trying to be pleasant to all of these gushing strangers."

"I always found autograph sessions great fun," Alan remembered. "All these people there to meet you and only you. It was great for the ego."

"My 'fans' were a bit different to yours," John told him. "Don't forget I wrote astronomy books. They were hardly best sellers. All I had was one bespectacled, middle-aged man after another. They made Brains look like a male model."

"No gorgeous young groupies?" Gordon teased.

John was quiet for a moment before he replied. "As I said the queue was filled with all these earnest, but boring men. I'd got to the stage where one customer merged into another, until I looked up and there was this young woman…"

"So there was a groupie!" Gordon exclaimed.

"Shush, Gordon!" Scott scolded.

"She was like a ray of light," John remembered. "Gorgeous! Blond hair, blue eyes… And, more importantly, she seemed genuinely interested in my work. We talked for a bit, a little longer than I did with anyone else, and then, before she left, she gave me her phone number."

"Gordon…" Scott warned.

"What?!"

John continued. "I finished the session and went back to my empty apartment and thought about this girl. Maybe she wasn't quite my type, but we appeared to have an interest in astronomy in common, and they say opposites attract. And I'll admit that I was lonely. I gave her a call and arranged a date for the following night."

"How did it go?" Virgil asked.

"Terrible!" John admitted. "It was one of the most boring evenings I'd ever had. She knew nothing about astronomy and seemed to have only one thing on her mind, but I'd made up my mind early in the evening that I was not interested in anything like that… Not with her, anyway. We finished the meal, I took her home, she invited me in for a coffee, and, so I wouldn't seem ungracious, I accepted, making sure that I sat in a single seat. While I was there her Chinese neighbour popped over to borrow something. He and I chatted briefly in Cantonese and he congratulated me on my pronunciation, departed, and I left soon after that."

"And that was it?" Alan asked.

"I thought so," John told him. "Until a month later. I was at work at the Agency when I was summonsed to the head office. Two policemen were waiting for me."

Scott sat up. "Policemen?!"

John nodded. "I was asked to accompany them down to the police station under suspicion of rape."

Three other brothers sat up. "Rape!"

John maintained his calm, reclining position. "She'd accused me of raping her a month earlier. She'd only just decided to come forward when she'd discovered that she was pregnant."

"This is getting too much for me," Gordon flopped back on the ground. "It's impossible to believe!"

"I was in a right flap," John admitted. "I mean, I knew that she was lying. There was absolutely no way that I could be the father. But try explaining that to a cop who sees you as a spoilt rich kid who's used to always getting what he wants. The neighbour remembered me being in the flat so it was the two of them against me."

"Heck, John!" Alan exclaimed. "What did you do?!"

"I turned to the only person that I felt I could trust under the circumstances. I used my sole phone call to ring Dad. By the time I'd been interviewed and charged he was there bailing me out."

"What did he say?" Alan asked.

"Like he did with you; not a lot. Not until we got back to my apartment. Then he sat me down, looked me in the eye and said, 'Now, John. I want you to be perfectly honest with me. Did you rape this girl?' I was able to answer him honestly that, no, I hadn't. Then he asked if I'd mistreated her in any way. No, I hadn't. Had I slept with her? Again I told him no. When we'd finished he said that he believed me. Fellas, you've got no idea what I relief it is to have someone say that they believe you when no one else seems willing to!"

Alan empathised with his brother, but held his tongue.

"Dad told me that if I had mistreated this girl he would have supported me as a father, but nothing more. But because I was innocent he was going to do all that he could to help me. We didn't know Lady Penelope then, so he started off by getting one of the top detective agencies in the city, 'Howard & Spencer', on to the case." John creased his brow in thought. "The whole experience was an eye-opener. I learnt who my friends were at the Agency. It was amazing how many people automatically assumed my guilt and made me a social pariah. One of the guys, and I still can't believe this, took the attitude that I was to be 'congratulated'. Some said they believed me, but I had a feeling they didn't really. There were only a couple of genuine friends who stood by me. It was almost a relief that I wasn't allowed back at work for long. The 'management' asked me to stand down 'until the issue was resolved'… The only saving grace was that the Agency was nearly as secretive as International Rescue and the press never got any idea that Jeff Tracy's son had been charged with a crime."

"You must have been a mess, John," Scott said.

"I was," John admitted. "The one thing that helped me keep my sanity was that, throughout it all, Dad stayed with me. Not once did he say or do anything that made me think that he was just humouring me. He worked from my apartment, through the local office of Tracy Industries, so that he was available if I needed him. He was there at all the police interviews. He kept on pushing the detectives to come up with a result. He kept on demanding that the girl have a scan to prove the age of the foetus. To cut a long story short, after one of the longest weeks of my life the private investigator got the necessary proof and I was cleared."

"Why'd she lay that crazy claim?" Virgil asked.

"It turned out that she'd got herself pregnant to her neighbour and knew that her parents wouldn't approve. So the pair of them hatched this plot to get some money from some gullible idiot that they figured could afford it… Me."

"But didn't you say the neighbour was Chinese?" Alan asked. "Once the baby was born everyone would have known that you couldn't have been the father."

"Yep. They'd planned on getting the money and disappearing long before then. They'd figured that I would have wanted to avoid the scandal and would have paid up with no complaint. They hadn't counted on Jeff Tracy being a stubborn and loyal father, which was just as well because by the time the eight months was over I would have been a nervous wreck. As it was I was glad when Dad decided to form International Rescue and I was able to leave the Space Agency. The way people had treated me had soured my attitude to the organisation."

"You should have told us, John," Scott admonished him. "We would have supported you too."

"I don't tell you everything, Scott," John said, echoing Virgil's earlier statement. "I might have been naïve, but I'm not stupid. I didn't want your crashing an Air Force jet on my conscience." The comment stirred no reaction in his brothers – an indication of how far they'd healed in the course of the afternoon.

"That must have been a good P.I. Dad got," Alan said.

"He was. It wasn't until afterwards that Dad told me that he must have been subconsciously drawn to a detective named Spencer. I remember him laughing as he said it was the 'Spencer Tracy' case."

Gordon had been listening to his brothers with avid interest. "The things I'm learning about you guys! So far you've admitted to 'assault and battery', 'car theft' and 'rape'." He looked at Scott. "Now I suppose you are going to raise your hand and admit to 'murder'?"

"If you want me to." Scott raised his hand.

"The Air Force doesn't count," Gordon told him.

Scott's hand remained airborne, "I don't mean the Air Force," he said. He placed both hands behind his head as he made himself more comfortable on the ground. He grinned at the four faces which were staring down at him in consternation.

Alan shook his head and settled back down onto the ground. "He's kidding you, Gordon."

"No, he's not," Virgil contradicted sitting up and staring at his brother. "Who'd you 'murder', Scott?"

Scott had closed both eyes against the sun. He cracked one open to look at Virgil. "My brothers."

A stunned silence met his announcement.

"O-kay," Gordon enunciated. "So… Unless Walter and Donald are buried in untended graves somewhere, you obviously didn't go ahead with your dastardly plans."

"Nope," Scott admitted, closing his eyes again. "But I had it all worked out. Starting from the youngest and working up to the eldest. It was all planned. Gordon was going to be easy. I was going to drown you."

"Did you change your mind when you discovered he had gills and could breathe underwater?" Alan asked and was shushed by his brothers.

Scott continued his tale. "Virgil; you were always banging on an electric keyboard, so I was going to fray the cord and then it was going to dangle in some water that 'someone' had 'accidentally' spilt when watering a pot-plant. John; I was going to pretend to show you a shooting star and push you off the roof."

"When was this?" John asked.

"A few years ago."

"How many years? How old were you?" Virgil asked.

Scott pursed his lips together in thought. "Let's see… I think I was… Eight."

"Ah." Everyone relaxed.

All accept Alan. "Since it sounds like all this happened before I was born, I'll ask. Why did you want to commit fratricide?"

"Because I was fed up with being the oldest. I thought I was regarded as nothing more than a ready made babysitter. And I was fed up with always playing second fiddle to my younger brothers."

"How do you mean 'second fiddle'?" Virgil asked.

Scott looked at him. "I don't know if you guys remember coming to my games, but it seemed to me that every time I did something well, I'd look over and Ma, or whoever was supposed to be watching, would be tending to the baby, or you, or John, and would have missed it…

"That's not much of a reason to commit murder," Gordon said.

"Remember I was eight," Scott reminded him. "One day that it all came to a head. My team was in the finals and everyone in the family had promised that they were going to come and watch. Well, my team played abysmally and the opposition were making mincemeat of the rest of them. But I was having a fantastic game, running rings around everyone. I was intercepting the ball, scoring goals… Every time they scored, I scored in reply. For me it was a magic game. Then it came down to the last few seconds and I slotted home the winning goal. Everyone was cheering me and telling me how great I was and to cap it all off I was voted 'most valuable player' of the season. I was on a real high and I felt as if I was flying like Superman. And the best feeling came from the knowledge that my family had watched my greatest achievement. I couldn't wait to show off my prize…" Scott paused as he remembered. "Then I saw Father walking towards us and I ran over to show him the trophy… His first words to me were, 'How did you go today?'"

"Ouch," John winced.

"I felt as though I'd fallen from Thunderbird Five. I hit the 'Earth' with such a thud that it hurt. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't believe that he'd missed my greatest moment… One of the other parents asked him if he'd seen the game and he replied that Gordon had been sick, so Ma had stayed home with him and Virgil, and that Father had been delegated to pick John up from astronomy club before coming to the field, but he'd got sidetracked into talking to someone, while John had gone home with someone else."

"And he'd missed the whole game?" Virgil asked.

"Uh, huh. No one saw it. Well, no one that mattered."

"I'm feeling guilty now," Gordon admitted. "Was I very ill?"

"Nah… I think you had a cold," Scott told him. "It wasn't your fault. But I was so upset that I forgot about the after-game party and stormed straight out to the car. I threw the trophy into the back and it landed on Virgil's booster seat. All of a sudden I knew who caused of all my troubles. My three younger brothers."

"And that was when you embarked on your life of crime?" Alan asked.

"It started me stewing. Father could see that I was upset and kept on apologising and trying to cheer me up. But I didn't want to be cheered up. I wanted to be shot of three little brothers. When we got home Father asked me if I wanted to show Ma my trophy. I snatched it out of his hands, took it inside and slammed it down beside her; then I went to my room and locked the door so I didn't have to face anyone. Father must have told Ma why I was upset because I heard her yelling at him. Boy, did she tell him off!"

"He wouldn't have been able to talk his way out of it either," John remembered. "Ma was one person he could never twist around to his way of thinking."

"So, I'm in my room, thinking how I hated my life and how I wished that I didn't have any brothers. Then it came to me: why not get rid of them? So I started planning each little detail of your executions. I analysed every aspect. Three brothers were too much. Two was a problem. One, John, since he wasn't too young, might be bearable. So I figured that if I got rid of you one at a time, starting with the time consuming youngest first, then my life might improve. I could stop when things got better."

John sat up brushed the dirt off his clothes. "Makes me glad I'm not the oldest… or youngest."

"I honestly didn't think I'd have to do anything to you, John. You were never much of a problem because your nose was usually in a book. But the other two…"

Virgil, sitting between Scott and Gordon turned to the red-head. "How about swapping places with me?"

"No way. I'm younger than you."

Scott levered himself up onto his elbows so he was able to look out to sea. "I don't think I ever really wanted to hurt you guys. It was just a way of getting all the anger out of my system. So I sat down and started planning everything on paper. I worked out your weaknesses and how I could exploit them without incriminating myself... And I discovered two things."

"What were they?" John asked.

"One: I quite enjoyed the planning process, and I thought I was quite good at it…"

Alan agreed. "That's true; you are."

"And two: If you're ever planning anything that you don't want anyone else to know about, don't put it down on paper."

Gordon laughed. "You were caught red-handed?"

Scott chuckled. "I left the room for some reason, came back and found Father reading everything I'd written."

"Uh, oh," Gordon deadpanned. "Caught in the act."

"Yep," Scott agreed. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what he was going to do either. I think he was shocked. He'd come in to apologise and to try to explain why he'd missed the match; and to try to make amends. He told me that it wasn't you guys' or Ma's fault that you'd missed my game. But that he had no excuse. He'd been selfishly caught up in his own world and hadn't considered how important the game would have been to me. He said he was sorry. He asked me to forgive him."

"What did you do? John asked.

"What do you do when you come across your father reading about your plans to eliminate your own brothers? Nothing. I waited for him to start yelling at me, but instead he apologised again. Then he asked me why I'd written what I'd written." Scott gave a wry grin. "You're right, Virg. No matter how determined you were not to tell the truth, Father had the knack of forcing it out of you without trying. He said that he hadn't realised how much being the eldest affected me. Not having had any younger brothers of his own, he had nothing to relate to."

"What else did he say?" Alan asked.

"Nothing. This rug-rat came running into the room, yelling that there was a monster and that Scotty had to come and get it."

John laughed. "I remember the monsters."

Their younger brothers frowned. "Monsters?" Virgil asked "What monsters?"

"You were always seeing monsters," Scott told him. "You were terrified of them."

"I was!" Virgil frowned down on his brother. "No way!"

"Yes, you were," John corrected him.

"What kind of monsters?" Alan asked.

"Could have been anything," Scott remembered. "A spider, a snake, the garden hose that looked like a snake," he grinned at Virgil. "Sometimes it was just shadows and your imagination running away with you."

"How come I don't remember any of this?" Virgil asked.

"You were pretty young," Scott recollected. "And, if I remember correctly, you stopped doing it at about the time that Alan was born. I guess you took one look at him and decided that no monster could be as scary as that."

Unimpressed, Alan responded with a sour, "Thanks."

"But, as Father pointed out to me that day, it was always me you came running to. Never Father or Ma; always me. He pointed out that it was pretty special at my age to have someone who trusted me that much. And he reminded me that John often asked for my help. He said that he thought that probably it would be the same with Gordon… If I allowed him to get to an age where he was able to talk. By that point I was beginning to see that there was some prestige associated with being the big brother and decided to let you all live... Mind you," Scott grinned again, "if I'd realised there was a fourth brother on the way, I might have reverted back to plan A." He flopped back down so that he was lying on the mossy ground. "The following night the coach brought around a video of the match, and the five of us sat around the TV and watched the greatest achievement of my short life." He smiled at the memories. "Virgil kept on jumping up and down and shouting, 'go, Scotty, go' even when the opposition had the ball and I wasn't in shot."

"There were some times when I was glad that it was you he'd pester and not me." John barked out a laugh. "Remember the 'monster cat'?"

"The monster cat…" Scott groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. "Don't remind me."

"Good," Virgil said. "I have a feeling that I don't want to know."

"We do. Tell us," Alan begged. "What was the monster cat?"

"Nothing much to tell, really," Scott remembered. "One day John and I were playing a board game when Virgil came running in and told me to come and get rid of the monster cat in the garden."

"Insistent wasn't he?" John laughed. "Wouldn't take no for an answer."

"We had no chance of carrying on with the game while Virgil was pulling on my arm, so I decided to humour him. I thought I'd go outside, pretend to scare the feline off and then I'd be free to get back to the game." He squinted up at a disgruntled looking brother. "I should have listened when you told me it was a black and white cat."

"Why?" Gordon asked. "What was so special about that?"

"It wasn't a cat."

"What was it then?" Alan queried.

"A skunk."

Alan and Gordon burst out laughing and even Virgil cracked a smile. "Are you going to tell us what I think you're going to tell us?"

"Quite probably. The skunk didn't take to kindly to a boy thrashing about in the bushes. He let me have it with both barrels." His brothers rolled about laughing. "Ma and Father came rushing out to see what John and I were yelling about." Scott screwed up his face. "It was disgusting!"

"You know," Virgil had a reflective look on his face, "I think I remember all this. You smelt pretty bad."

"Pretty bad is putting it mildly," John corrected.

"Ma made me strip my clothes off right there in the back yard and started hosing me down, while Father was on the internet to find an antidote to the smell. He came back with a mixture of vinegar, baking soda and detergent. It took four washes to get the odour down to a bearable level… It was years before I was able to smell vinegar without feeling sick."

"One good thing that came out of all this," John said. "I got my own room."

"Yeah. John kept complaining that I stunk and he couldn't sleep with the smell, so Father lined the shed out back of the house and then we shifted my gear into this room. Having space to do what I wanted was a silver lining to a very unpleasant cloud."

"It was great!" John remembered. "For the first time in my life I had a room all to myself… Then Alan came along and Virgil moved in with me," his face darkened. "I wish I'd had access to those plans of yours, Scott."

Virgil scowled. "All this love. I think I'm going to be sick."

"What happened to the skunk?" Gordon asked.

"Snuck away while all the mayhem was going on," Scott told him. "We never saw it again. A fact for which I was VERY grateful." He winked up at Virgil. "Maybe that's the moment when I started planning multiple homicides."

Gordon chuckled. "And to think we've been harbouring a viper to our breasts all these years. Tonight I'm taking my gun to bed with me." He stretched. "Assault and battery, car theft, rape and murder. Alongside you guys I'm a positive angel!"

Virgil snorted. "Angel? Who put glue on their teacher's chair?"

"I left the neutraliser on the desk," Gordon protested.

"Just out of her reach," Virgil reminded him.

"And who put the bread on the seats of Mr Gates' convertible?" John asked, pointing at his prankster brother.

Gordon chuckled at the memory. "He called me a bird-brain, so I thought I'd let him see the real thing."

"How many times did Dad have to come down to your schools to bail you out of trouble?" John asked. "I had a theory that your schools must have had a direct phone line to Dad so that whenever you got yourself into trouble they could contact him immediately. Save having to go through his receptionists and P.A.s."

"Plus his car was pre-programmed with the route, so he could sit back and try to regain his cool on the trip there," Alan added.

Gordon laughed. "Okay. I'll admit that he had to make a couple of trips."

"A couple!" Virgil exclaimed. "I can think of ten without really trying."

"I can't help it that I like to have fun," Gordon favoured his brothers with an angelic smile.

"I don't think your friend found it fun when you rearranged his furniture while he was away on a WASP exercise?" Scott informed him.

Gordon stared at him. "How'd you find that out?"

Scott responded by tapping the side of his nose.

Gordon chuckled again. "Porky was not happy with me. He came home exhausted and ready to flop onto his bed, only to find that his bed was in the dining room and the dining room furniture was in his bedroom. I'd apple-pied the sheets too."

"You lived dangerously sometimes," Alan noted. "I remember one time that Dad had worked late before heading out to an important black tie function. He thought that all he'd have to do is have a shower and get dressed and walk out the door. But when he came to put the tuxedo on he couldn't get his arm into the sleeve and couldn't work out why. He was in a real flap by the time I realised that you'd sewn the sleeve shut. By the time I had undone the stitching you were lucky you were in a bathyscaphe at the bottom of the ocean."

"You would have been wise to be that far away the time you put an 'automatic door' notice over the 'push/pull' sign," Virgil recollected. "How many people walked away from that branch of Tracy Industries because the door didn't open and they thought the office was closed?"

"I remember that!" John exclaimed. "It was ages before anybody realised what had happened. Dad rushed over to open the door for someone and they assumed that he was the bellboy, ignored him, marched over to the reception desk, and demanded to see Mr Jeff Tracy."

Gordon had a reflective smile on his face. "He was a good sport. He always laughed at my jokes… eventually."

"You didn't always make him laugh," John informed his younger brother. "When you'd had your accident he refused to leave your bed until you came round. For a while there I was nearly as worried about his health as I was yours."

Gordon saddened at the memories. "His face was the first thing I saw when I awoke. He looked dreadful! I've always felt guilty about putting him through that grief."

"It wasn't your fault," John reminded him. "But there wasn't a happier man on this Earth than Dad when you eventually opened your eyes."

"He was nearly as excited after your Olympic final," Virgil grinned. "He was cheering you that loud that he almost deafened me."

"It's a wonder you could hear him," John remarked, "over your own shouting!"

"And yours," Virgil retorted.

"And everyone else's…"

"There wasn't a prouder man in the crowd when you stood on the dais to receive your gold medal," Virgil told Gordon. "He looked that proud I thought he was going to burst."

Alan sat up.

"But he was half expecting you to be wearing a hand buzzer for when you shook hands with the head of the Olympic Federation," John added.

Alan looked at his brothers.

There was a twinkle in Gordon's eye. "I did consider it…"

"Guys…" Alan began. Then he stopped.

Four faces looked at him.

"What, Alan?" Virgil asked.

"I… I want to tell you all something. Please listen and don't get mad at me."

His brothers glanced at each other. "Okay," Scott rolled over so he was facing his brother. "We'll listen."

"I know I've caused problems, going on about seeing Dad. I know that you all think that I'm holding up the sale of the island and causing us more problems…"

His brothers sat in silence.

"I know that you all think I've gone crazy… I'm not entirely convinced that I haven't myself…"

No one interrupted him. No one made the expected flippant comment.

"But I'm sure that I saw Dad. I am so sure that I touched him, that…" Alan took a deep breath. "That I've asked Penny to do some investigating for me. And I promise…" he clenched his fists, "I promise that whatever she discovers I'll go along with. If she discovers that he's dead, you can give me those papers and I'll sign them and then you can book me in for whatever care you think I need. But I think… I hope she'll find our father."

He looked around at his siblings. They were all looking back at him. He waited for someone to tell him that he was crazy. He waited for one of them to say that he had no right to involve Lady Penelope in his delusions. He waited for one of them to tease him.

Instead Gordon placed a hand on his shoulder. "Okay, Alan," he said in a quiet voice. "We'll wait until you hear back from Penny before we say any more about the sale of the island." He gave his brother's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"This is something we've all got to be happy with," Virgil explained. "And if that means waiting a few more days, I can live with that."

"Yes," John agreed. "We can wait. Besides, we can't go anywhere until Virgil's finished painting the sign for the lookout."

Alan stared at his brothers in wonder. "You don't mind?"

Everyone shook their heads.

Everyone, except Scott, who stood and walked away from the group until he was at the edge of the lookout, staring out to sea. Bemused by his reaction his brothers looked at each other.

Worried that perhaps his brother wasn't willing to be so forgiving; Alan felt a knot form in his stomach. "Scott? I'm sorry."

Scott didn't turn. Instead he bowed his head, raising his hand to his face.

"Scott?" Virgil stood.

A strangled sound escaped from the eldest Tracy. His shoulders began to shake.

"Hey!" Virgil raced to his brother's side. "Are you okay?"

"I…" Scott's voice was almost unrecognisable as he tried to turn away to hide his face. "I…"

"Come here," Virgil put an arm about his shoulders. "It's okay."

"Virgil…"

"It's okay," Virgil repeated as he pulled his brother close. "We understand…"

For the first time in his life Scott Tracy cried openly in front of his family. Virgil held him; talking in a soothing voice. Their brothers, feeling somewhat embarrassed, looked away, and wondered if perhaps it would be kinder to leave quietly.

"I miss him," Scott gasped.

"I know," Virgil acknowledged. "We all do."

"I don't know if I can cope…"

"Yes you will. We all will… somehow."

"I'm scared… I'm scared that I won't be as good as him."

"You don't have to be. You only have to be yourself. We all respect you."

"I'm scared we're all falling to pieces, and there's nothing I can do about it…"

Alan stood. Warily he walked over to his two brothers. "Scott… I'm sorry." He repeated as he placed his hand on Scott's back.

Scott straightened, and pulled away from Virgil's grasp as he looked at Alan with reddened eyes. "It's not you... It's me… It's us… It's…" he looked skywards and rubbed the tears from his cheeks on his sleeve. He swallowed. "Sorry, Virg."

"That's okay. I could hardly smell the monster cat."

Scott managed a chuckle before apologising to his brothers. "I'm sorry, fellas."

"Don't be," Gordon got off the ground and came to stand beside Alan, placing his arm about his younger brother's shoulders.

John joined the group. Each brother rested his arms on the shoulders of the brother on either side of him while his hands gripped the arms of the two brothers furthest away. Bound together in a tight circle; unbreakable in their support for each other; their bond was complete.

"We've all been there, Scott," Virgil said.

"You have?" Scott sniffed.

"Yeah," Alan managed his familiar cheeky smile. "Only we blubbered in private."

Scott gave him a wry one in return. "I don't believe you."

"It's true," Virgil admitted. "A couple of nights ago, when I was in bed, it hit me like a tsunami. There was nothing I could do about it other than let it flow out of my system."

Gordon agreed. "Why do you think I've spent so much time in the pool this past week? I figured no one would ever know. I was already wet, and red eyes could be blamed on the chemicals. Check the water and it'll be one part chlorine, ten parts tears."

"That first night," John said. "I had to sneak off the roof and into the storeroom for a box of tissues… twice."

The admission brought a chuckle from his brothers. "So that's why there was less in there when I went to get my second box," Alan admitted.

"But if anyone," John stated, "and I mean ANYONE, tells us that were less than the men we should be, because we grieve for our father, then I for one will have pleasure in showing him how wrong he is!"

Scott looked at him and managed to smile. "For someone who hasn't had much to say these last few days, John, you've sure said a mouthful."

"He's right, Scott," Virgil told him. "We've all cried over Father. It doesn't mean we've lost any respect for one another."

Scott released his hold of Alan and Gordon and rubbed his nose. "This isn't getting any easier, is it?"

"It will," John said. "I thought I'd never survive without Ma, but I did. We all did. We can survive this… whatever the outcome of Lady Penelope's investigation."

Alan looked uncomfortable at the reminder.

Scott looked at him. "I'm proud of you, Kid… No, that's not quite right… I'm proud of you, Alan!"

Alan looked at him in bemusement. "You're proud? Of me?! Why?"

"For sticking to your guns. For being man enough to do something instead of moping about like we have. And for being brave enough to tell us that you've called Penny, despite all we've said to you over these last couple of days." He wagged a finger at Alan. "And I'll tell you, little brother, if you're right and if by some miracle all those eye witnesses and reports and all that evidence is wrong, and if Father is still alive… I'll finish your shift on Thunderbird Five. In fact I'll do that plus a whole month!"

"No, I'll do the next one," Virgil offered

"Virg…" Scott started to protest.

"I'm not being altruistic, I'm being practical. I know I need to lose weight and I'll do that easier on Thunderbird Five away from Grandma and Kyrano's cooking. You need to gain some condition before you spend time up there. You can do Alan's next shift."

"You're on," Scott told him.

"And I'll do the one after," Gordon added.

"Not me," said John. "There's no way that I would want to be away from Dad any longer than my rostered shift... But I'm sure we could work something out."

Alan looked at them all wide eyed.

"And I'll tell you all something else…" Now Scott was sounding angry. "If you are right; if someone has planned this; if someone has kidnapped and hurt Father… Then they had better hope that I'm not the first person to find them…!"

* * *

Angus Brett stepped off the air-taxi and stretched. He couldn't really face the long commercial flight home from this small, populated island to Kansas. Besides, he had a feeling that his failure to get all of the Tracy boys' signatures on the contract would not be well received. He rationalised that if he stayed the night on this island, he could fly back to the Tracys' tomorrow and receive Alan's signature. He was sure that it would only take one night of gentle persuasion from his older brothers and the youngest would fall into line. 

Mr Brett transferred his flight to the following day and then booked into an exclusive motel. Once he had been escorted to his room, he threw his case onto his bed, loosened his tie, preened his moustache and dialled a long-distance number.

A man answered the telephone. "Yeah, Abe?" As usual his scarred lip distorted his words.

"Miles! That International Rescue agent? What did you do with him?"

Miles looked bemused at the question. "Let him go like you said. Handed him over to some other International Rescue guys."

"Did he say anything?"

"He was saying 'Dad' over and over. His pals kept telling him that they weren't his father."

"Did they say what his name was?"

Miles screwed up his face in thought. "Nah… Not that I remember. What's this about, A.B?"

"Describe him to me."

The goon thought. "Blond hair. Over six foot. I'd say in his early twenties."

"Where'd you hit him? Right or left side?"

"On the right," Miles demonstrated on his own head. The action was almost identical to the one that Scott had used to indicate Alan's injury.

"How did Tracy act towards him?"

"Tracy? Seemed real concerned…" Then Miles frowned. "Um… Tracy's not…? You know…? Is he?" He seemed awkward with the question.

"Do I know what?"

"You know… One of those," Miles made a descriptive gesture.

"Jeff Tracy has five sons, Miles."

"Doesn't necessarily tally though, does it? Are they all his?"

"He thinks the world of them all and I'm pretty sure that he thinks they are…"

"I got his blood on my hand. He's not diseased in that way is he?"

"I would doubt it," Brett replied. "Why do you think Tracy's gay?"

"When I went in to get the International Rescue guy, Tracy had his arm around him. Kind of friendly like…"

"Protective?"

"Yeah…What's this all about, A.B.? Has this International Rescue guy broken our cover?"

"Broken OUR cover. No, my dear Miles, not ours…"

_To be continued…_


	11. Reminiscences

_And the winning bid goes to..._

**11 Eleven: Reminiscences**

Brains took his seat in his little room in the aircraft hangar. Yesterday's work had seemed to achieve nothing; all of the investigators' searching had proved fruitless. They were no closer to solving the mystery of Jeff Tracy's crash.

"Morning, Hiram," David Campbell greeted Brains as he entered the room. Over the course of the previous day he'd decided that, despite his misgivings, he quite liked the designer of the aeroplane that was now a tangled, charred mess before them. The serious young man was clearly as impatient to discover the true cause of the crash as they were and had done nothing to suggest that he was trying to absolve himself of any guilt.

"G-G-Good morning, David," Brains replied.

"Let's hope we have more success today," David said.

Brains nodded.

"The team's been hard at work," David told him. "We're hopeful to get some results."

"I-I-I hope so."

"Better get started then." David did up the front of his overalls and stepped outside the office and over to where a group of his assistants were standing in a huddle. Brains watched as the assistants explained something to the chief A.A.I., looked at an object, examined the plans, conferred with each other, examined that plans again… and then looked in Brains' direction.

He watched as David Campbell took the item and carried it towards the office.

"We're stumped with this one," David said, laying the mystery item on the desk. "We can't find anything in your plans that remotely coincide with this."

Brains looked at what appeared to be some linkages and bits of wire. "In wh-what part of the jet w-was it found?"

"Near the nose. We think in the vicinity of the control yoke. The plane didn't have some new kind of steering mechanism, did it?"

Brains shook his head. "No. Wh-When I was designing the jet, M-Mr Tracy said to keep the pilot controls the same as a s-standard plane. He said he was too old to start learning how t-to fly all over again... It was rubbish, of course," he managed a reflective smile. "He was an intelligent man, and w-was willing to try any new invention."

"So what is this then?" David asked, dragging International Rescue's engineer back into the present.

"Ah?" Brains looked closer at the mysterious bits of metal and wire. "May I touch it?" David nodded.

Taking care not to disturb the article any more than he had to, Brains examined it closely. He frowned. "I-If I didn't know that th-there was no such thing on board, I w-would have said that it was s-some kind of remote control device. S-See…" he extended a length of wire. "Th-This appears to be an antenna."

"And there's no reason why Mr Tracy would have such a device near the control yoke or in the vicinity of the pilot's controls?"

Bewildered, Brains stared at the Air Accident Inspector. "N-No. N-None."

* * *

Angus Brett paced up and down the floor of his hotel room. All that money spent on the expensive bed and he'd barely spent five minutes in it. His overactive mind had refused to let him sleep. During the day he could bury the knowledge that he'd indirectly caused the deaths of all those people at the Sunflower Mall. But at night… "It wasn't meant to happen like that!" he exclaimed out loud to the darkness.

He rubbed his hand over his face and, yet again, relived the events that had lead up to this day……

"_Ah, Mr Brett. Do sit down," the greeting, while cordial, had all the warmth of a rattlesnake settling down for the night._

"_Ah… Thanks… Thank you," Brett said nervously and did as he was instructed. "You wanted to see me, Mr Earl?"_

"_I did," Mr Falcon Earl said. "Miles, perhaps you will leave us for a while?"_

"_Of course, Mr Earl," Miles said and retreated through the door that Brett had just entered. _

_Brett relaxed somewhat. Without the muscle man present at least his health should remain intact for a little while longer. But for how long he had no idea. He had no doubt that Miles was waiting outside that door, blocking the only exit, and waiting to be summonsed to do what ever it was that he did best._

"_I have called you in for a chat," Earl said, leaning back in his vast leather chair and sipping his drink. "I presume you remember that little loan I gave you."_

"_Oh, yes. Yes I do!" Brett waggled his head eagerly in the affirmative. "You saved my neck."_

"_Good, good." Earl rubbed his ample abdomen. "Always glad to help someone in need. In fact," he continued as an idea came to him, "you could call me the International Rescue of the financial world."_

_Brett laughed, hoping it was the right thing to do._

"_There are, of course, differences," Earl continued on. "I don't have fabulous machines at my disposal, and, unlike the other International Rescue, I expect repayment."_

"_Quite right too," Brett said._

"_I'm sure you understand how necessary it is for me to expect repayment," Earl said. "You can't just give away money willy-nilly, can you?"_

"_No," Brett agreed._

"_I mean... I have expenses. I have outlays. I have… obligations."_

"_I wouldn't expect otherwise from a man in your position," Brett said._

"_No." Earl spread his hands apart. "And it's not an easy world to live in. People want things from me. The IRS claim that I owe them simply ridiculous amounts of money. The police are trying to frame me with the murder of Harry Gates… A fact of which I am completely innocent."_

"_I'm sure you are."_

"_They pester me all day and don't allow me to get on with my legitimate business. If I could get away somewhere from all these hassles, somewhere free of petty bureaucracy, somewhere where I could live my life my way, I would be happy." He indicated a photo on his wall. "Somewhere warm… Somewhere idyllic… Somewhere free from Governmental persecutions."_

_Brett obediently looked at the photo of a tropical landscape and nodded._

"_But I am not happy… But, despite these trials, I must try to continue to run my business. I must insist on having all debts paid on time and in full."_

"_You can't run a business any other way," Brett agreed._

"_Your time is up," Earl said bluntly._

"_Ug, uh," Brett articulated._

_Earl held up a slip of paper. "I have here your I.O.U. On it says that you will repay me, in full, with interest, on this date."_

"_I know."_

"_It's a simple transaction. You give me the money and I'll give you this slip of paper. You will be debt free."_

_To Brett the idea sounded like heaven, except that heaven was a long way away. "Ah, well, you see…"_

"_You have the money?"_

"_Not in so many words. I have some, ah, irons in the fire, but nothing has come to fruition yet…" Brett shrank back into his seat as Earl's face turned nasty._

"_You don't have the money?"_

"_Not yet. But give me time!" Brett gasped._

"_Time," Earl snarled. "You've had time. You said you could repay me today! Did you lie to me?"_

"_No…"_

"_Because I won't tolerate liars. If you can't repay me in cash you will repay me in kind. Miles!"_

"_No…" Brett yelled._

_The door began to open…_

_Even today, all these weeks after that conversation, Brett was still amazed at how clearly he'd been thinking at the time. Instead of his brain dissolving into a mush of nervous impulses an idea had sprung to the fore. "Wait! I have a proposition for you!"_

"_Proposition?" Earl snarled, as Miles closed the door behind him. "You've reneged on your initial proposition."_

"_I know," Brett gabbled gamely. "But I'm sure this will interest you. Please hear me out. Give me ten minutes?" he begged, sensing Miles standing at his shoulder._

_Earl held up his hand and Brett heard Miles' arm drop to his side. "You have five."_

_Relieved at the temporary reprieve, Brett let out a breath. "You said that you would like to find somewhere where you could live away from the prying eyes of Government departments. I could supply you with that!"_

_Earl frowned. "You could? How?"_

"_I know some place, a tropical island in the South Pacific, far away from any territorial limits, where you could live in comfort and peace."_

"_An island! Even islands are under some form of government control."_

"_Not this one! It's in private ownership. It's got everything you'll need. An airstrip big enough to take full sized planes, state of the art communications, even a lab you could use to make dr… whatever you want."_

_Earl was beginning to look interested. "A Pacific island? Native girls?"_

"_Ah, no. The only residents are the family who live there. But there's a guesthouse, away from the main house, where anyone could stay. You could invite the World President over and she'd never need to know what you were doing in the villa. The main house is well appointed with every luxury, ten bedrooms, expansive kitchen, gym, theatre, library…"_

"_Are they looking to sell?"_

"_I don't think so, but I have a plan that'll make them give it to you willingly, even though they don't want to… But I'll need your help."_

"_You are sure this plan will work?"_

"_Pretty sure, but I can't do it on my own."_

"_Who owns this place?"_

"_Tracy."_

"_Tracey? Tracey who? Not Tracey Garcia from California? Eduardo Garcia's daughter?"_

"_No. Jeff Tracy. Of Tracy Industries."_

"_The reclusive billionaire?"_

"_That's him. I do some legal work for him."_

_Earl sneered. "A two bit lawyer like you does work for a multi-billionaire?"_

"_We go back a long way. I think he feels some loyalty towards me."_

"_Clearly the feeling is mutual." Earl was being sarcastic, but he looked thoughtful. "Are you sure you can get this place? I don't want any links to me."_

"_I can do it," Brett said confidently. "But I have one condition." He expected to see the sneer again and was surprised when Earl appeared willing to listen. "I'll admit to being a crook. I'll admit to being dishonest, or a thief, I'll even admit to being an embezzler, but I draw the line at murder. I don't want anyone hurt."_

"_But won't Tracy have something to say about you whipping his island away from him?"_

"_If it all goes to plan he won't know a thing about it until it's too late."_

_Earl looked at Brett in interest. "Apart from saving your miserable little skin, why do you want to do this? What's in it for you?"_

_Brett gave a sneer of his own. "I want to see Tracy's face when he learns that his precious, perfect sons have sold his island out from under him."_

Brett threw himself into a chair and sighed. The plan had been that the aeroplane would 'crash' into the Pacific Ocean and Jeff Tracy would disappear; only to wash up on shore after the sale of the island had been completed. And, apart from the accident with the shopping mall, everything had been proceeding as planned.

Until those one of those precious, perfect sons had foiled him. The others had crawled straight into the trap.

He frowned, what could he do about Alan? Then his frown reversed into a sardonic grin. So, now he knew something that the rest of the world was dying to know. He knew the identity of the great International Rescue. He laughed at the idea. Jeff Tracy obviously hadn't trusted him enough to take him into his confidence and now one of Jeff Tracy's own sons had given the game away. Jeff Tracy's own son had sold him out just as Brett's son had done to him!

Brett felt the thrill of realisation of the power that that knowledge could bring him. He now had a bargaining chip that he could use to manipulate both sides…

He relaxed back in his chair and thought about the first time he met Jeff Tracy…

_Angus Brett secured the last screw into the nameplate that bore his name and stood back to admire his handiwork. Now, after all those years of struggling through law school, he finally had his own practise. Maybe he wouldn't be as famous as he could have been if he'd followed his dream and taken up acting as a career. But then perhaps he could yet become a world class barrister; holding the judge and jury in the palm of his hands as he wove the tale of his client's innocence. Perhaps the law courts would be his stage…_

_He heard a throat clear behind him. "Excuse me." Brett turned and found himself looking at the lapel of an Air Force flight jacket. He adjusted his angle of vision and looked into the ruggedly handsome face and piercing dark eyes of a young pilot. The nametag on his jacket identified him as 'Tracy'. "I'm looking for a lawyer," Tracy said._

"_Well, you've found one," Brett admitted. "Would you like to come inside?" He led the way into his spartan, one-room office. "What can I do for you?"_

"_My name's Jeff Tracy," the young man introduced himself. "I'm a pilot stationed at the local Air Force base…"_

"_So I gathered," Brett indicated the other man's clothing. _

_Jeff looked down and laughed. "I guess it is pretty obvious."_

"_What can I do for you, Mr Tracy?"_

"_I'm getting married in a week's time and it suddenly dawned on me that I'll have financial and legal responsibilities. I want to draw up a will."_

"_A wise idea," Brett admitted, and reached into his desk for the necessary paraphernalia. "I've just got married myself," he indicated a photo on his desk, "to Zelma. We're expecting a baby."_

"_Congratulations." Jeff picked up the wedding photo and examined it. The 'happy' couple were standing apart from one another and the smiles on their faces appeared forced. He placed it back on the desk and opened his wallet. "That's Lucille," he said as he withdrew a photo of a vivacious brunette with an impish smile._

_Brett admired the photo briefly before getting down to business. "I think it's only fair to tell you that you are my first client."_

_Jeff shrugged. "We all have to start somewhere and it's not as if I've got a lot to leave her. But as I'm hoping to be selected for the astronaut squad I thought I should be prepared."_

_Brett looked up. "Wow!"_

"_Yeah," Jeff grinned. "That's how I felt when I first heard about it. My parents aren't too keen on the idea, but they're supporting me all the way."_

"_And your fiancée?"_

"_Lucille? She's great! Backing me to the hilt. I've promised her that once I've been to the moon I'll settle down… I don't know what I'd do though, it's not like I can see myself being stuck behind a desk all day."_

_That was the first moment when Brett had felt antagonism towards the man seated before him. His own parents had done all they could to thwart his thespian ambitions. Even while at law school he'd continued to tread the boards, hopeful that some talent scout would discover him and lead him away to the life he wanted. But none had. Even while at law school his parents had nagged him to forget acting and concentrate on his studies. _

_Eventually he'd graduated bottom of his class. The realisation that he wasn't a particularly good lawyer had prompted his decision to try full time acting. He set himself a limit of a year. If he had no success with in that time then he would return to the law. He'd told Zelma his plans and then emboldened by what he'd thought was her support, told his parents._

_His father had thrown him out of the house and disowned him._

_Then Zelma had become pregnant. His mother had retained contact with her errant son, but was not about to let him shirk his duty. Between her and Zelama's continuing naggings of: 'You're going to have a wife and baby to support. You'll never do it as an actor', Brett had been convinced to return to the more 'respectable' trade…_

_Brett dragged himself back to the present and hid his antagonism behind an actor's mask of friendliness. "If you want to ensure that Lucille is provided for, should the worst happen to you," he told Jeff, "may I suggest an investment that doubles as a life insurance?"_

_Jeff sat forward on his seat. "Can you do that?"_

"_Of course." Brett had made his first commercial deal._

_Time passed and once again Jeff Tracy was in Brett's office. This time he brought Lucille along. "We're going to have a child," he said with pride. "Lucille and I have decided to update our wills."_

"_Congratulations," Brett said as he'd held out a seat for Lucille. "Not trying to steal your thunder, but Zelma and I are expecting as well."_

"_That's fantastic!" Jeff enthused, as Lucille smiled sweetly. "So that'll be two you'll have?"_

"_Ah, no," Brett said. "Unfortunately Zelma miscarried the first child."_

"_Oh," Jeff's face fell._

"_I'm sorry to hear that," Lucille said. _

_Not as sorry as Brett had been. If only the unhappy event had happened before he'd placed that ring on Zelma's finger, he could have returned to acting. Perhaps life could have been so much better…_

_Jeff Tracy had announced on his third visit that he and Lucille were expecting another child._

"_And how's your little boy," Brett asked._

"_Scott?" Jeff's eyes gleamed. "Wonderful kid, I hope number two's as well behaved as him. And Lucille's a fantastic mother. I'm really lucky. How's your son?"_

"_Vince? He's a handful, always getting into everything. I couldn't find my car keys the other day. He'd hidden them under his pillow."_

_Jeff had laughed…_

_On the fourth visit Jeff decided to remind himself of the contents of his will. "The house is in an uproar and I've misplaced my copy. I know… I'm hopeless. If it wasn't for Lucille I'd forget which day it was," he laughed. "And since number three's on the way I've brought Scott along this time to give his mother a break."_

"_How do you do, Scott," Brett held out his hand._

_Scott shook his hand. "I'm gettin' 'nother brother."_

"_We don't know about that yet," Jeff ruffled his eldest's hair affectionately. "We'll see." _

"_What a polite little boy," Brett exclaimed. "Mine would be screaming the place down by now…"_

_Scott, along with John, had also accompanied Jeff on visit five. "We're having to move to a bigger house," Jeff joked. "The Air Force residential officer is saying that they'll have to add on extra rooms to accommodate all our kids."_

"_Three boys," Brett said. "Do you know what this next one's going to be?"_

"_A boy!" Scott said confidently._

"_Maybe," Jeff smiled. "We like it to be a surprise. It'd be nice to have a little sister though, wouldn't it, Guys?"_

_John gave a beatific smile at the thought, while Scott screwed up his face._

"_How's Vince?" Jeff asked._

_Brett chuckled. "His latest trick is sneaking up behind women and looking up their skirts. I try to explain to him that it's not the done thing, but the boy has a mind of his own." He looked at Scott and John, each absorbed in their books; Scott's about aeroplanes, and John's on the stars. He felt a pang of envy._

"_He'll grow out of it," Jeff was saying confidently…_

"_I've promised her that this is the last one," Jeff joked on his sixth visit. "I've told Lucille that I'll do something about it."_

_Brett got an extra seat for Virgil. The boy clambered onto it and started scrawling in his sketchpad as his two older brothers got out their books. Scott started reading what appeared to be an aviation textbook and John began writing in a notebook. "You're just back from the moon, aren't you, Jeff?" Brett asked. "You've become quite a celebrity."_

"_Boy! Was that an experience," Jeff enthused. "I've never seen anything like it."_

_Scott looked up. "Tell Mr Brett about the lift-off."_

"_Yeah, and how the whole rocket shook," John added. "Show him, Daddy."_

_Jeff chuckled. "Later, Boys. Mr Brett and I have work to do."_

_Virgil held up a picture he'd drawn. "That's Daddy's rocket."_

"_That's a very good drawing, Virgil," Brett said. _

"_Thank you." Virgil said and returned his attention to his drawing._

"_I'm writing a story," John said proudly. "It's about Daddy going to the moon. I'd like to go to the moon. I could see the stars much closer." He held his notebook so that Brett could see his tidy writing._

"_Your writing's very neat, John," Brett complemented. "My boy's writing isn't as neat as yours."_

"_I'm going to join the Air Force," Scott said._

"_Shush, Boys," Jeff admonished gently. "You can tell Mr Brett about it later."_

"_Sounds like they're itching to follow in their Dad's footsteps," Brett laughed._

_Jeff looked at his sons with pride._

_In the years between that first meeting and the seventh Brett watched as Jeff's career literally went into orbit, while his stayed firmly grounded in that little one-room office in town. _

_Brett would only ever admit to himself that the seventh meeting brought a bitter pleasure to him._

"_Jeff? What can I say? I'm sorry."_

_Jeff tried to smile and failed. No longer was he the carefree man with the world at his feet. The death of his wife had had turned his world upside-down. "I received the card. Thanks."_

"_I wish I could have done more."_

_Jeff Tracy's five sons crammed themselves into a corner of the room. No one was reading, writing or drawing this time. They all looked lost and bewildered by the sudden departure of their mother. Scott was talking to them quietly; trying to reassure his younger brothers._

"_What are you going to do now?" Brett asked the bereft man before him._

"_I don't know," Jeff admitted. "I relied on Lucille for so much… Obviously I can't continue as an astronaut, not with five sons to care for. My mother says she'll help, but I can't lay it all on her. I'll have to find a job, but doing what I don't know. My only skills are flying rockets and I can't see that rating very highly on a CV."_

"_Come on, Jeff. A man with your personality and talents? You'll be fine." Brett was proud of his acting skills that day._

"_I hope so." Jeff took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. "Sorry," he apologised. "I guess we'd better get this over and done with."_

"_Yes." Brett opened the document and began reading the last will and testament of Lucille Tracy…_

_Despite his misgivings Jeff Tracy's life had prospered. He'd gone into partnership with an old friend and started an engineering firm. The firm grew and expanded, becoming more and more successful._

_Brett watched Jeff's fortunes rise and felt more and more bitter. At first he'd hoped that Tracy Engineering would use him for all their legal business, but Jeff had explained apologetically that his partner's sister was a solicitor who specialised in business law and that both partners agreed that it would be better for the company to utilise her skills. Jeff was sure that Brett would understand..._

_Understand! Angus Brett understood all right! He understood that the great Jeff Tracy didn't rate him as a lawyer. Oh, he was okay for wills and that first investment, but for anything else…_

_It was a bitter pill for Angus Brett to swallow._

_Nearly as bitter as his marriage to Zelma. There was no doubt that the union was a mistake. If it hadn't been for that one miscarried child he would have been free of her nagging and moaning, and the affairs that she openly flouted in front of him and the wider society._

_Their only child, Vince, had been a disappointment too. His babyish screaming had continued on into his adult life, developing a vocabulary that wouldn't have been out of place on the docks. His childish scrawl was more often found on people's walls rather than pieces of paper. His hiding of his father's car keys had grown into the theft of other people's cars. Looking up women's skirts had escalated into accusations of sexual assault and ultimately rape. Vince displayed no loyalty or responsibility to his family. _

_A year or so ago, when Brett was desperate to try to have something resembling a normal marriage he'd manipulated some investment accounts to try to rake in a little extra cash. _

_Zelma had been unimpressed with his sudden largesse. _

_Then one day the police came knocking. "Mr Angus Brett? We have reason to believe that you have been embezzling funds."_

"_That's outrageous! How did you get that idea?"_

"_We have our sources, Sir."_

_Brett knew what those sources were. He'd caught a glimpse of a familiar childish scrawl. Vince had plea-bargained with the police to try to reduce the rape charges against him. His son had accused his own father of fraud to help himself! At that moment Angus Brett knew he no longer had a son. _

_He felt no grief when he heard that the boy had been killed trying to outrun the police in a stolen car._

_Zelma had taken the embezzlement charge as the excuse she'd always wanted and had finally left her husband. She'd run off with a younger man. _

_Brett felt no sorrow at her loss either._

_But now he was alone and he was in trouble. He had to get the money back quickly, so that when the accounts were checked it would all seem to have been nothing more than a simple clerical error. He needed help and he'd turned to Mr Falcon Earl. _

_Mr Earl had been more than willing to help. Of course he understood. No need to explain. Just sign this bit of paper and all would be well…_

_Until the money was due to be repaid…_

Brett rubbed his face again.

The irony of it all was that Jeff Tracy had inadvertently aided and abetted the scam; even as his 'demise' was being prepared. The morning of that day when Jeff Tracy's aeroplane crashed, the philanthropist had been to see him. It had not been a happy meeting. Tracy had accused Brett of embezzling the solitary investment and had said he was going to the police. He'd shown him the proof he had; duplicates of papers from a detective, the company solicitor… his accountant. Brett laughed at the memories. If only Jeff Tracy had realised that by supplying him with those official letterheads he had walked straight into the trap. Mr Earl had supplied him with equipment to forge the will and it had been easy to use the same equipment to forge substantiating letters using those letterheads. Letters that had convinced Jeff Tracy's sons that they had nothing.

The biggest gamble had been that one of them would have done a little research of their own into their father's affairs. Brett had taken the chance that they'd be so caught up in their grief that the idea of confirming what they'd been told hadn't even entered their heads.

His gamble had paid off. Even Alan, after his 'climbing accident' had seemed disinclined to ask for outside help.

Brett stood, looked around his empty hotel room and noticed the cold, grey light of dawn was starting to peek through the curtains. He decided to try for one hour's sleep before facing the new day…

* * *

It was the early hours of an English morning, but late afternoon Central Daylight Time, when Lady Penelope and Parker drove in FAB1 through the streets of Kansas City.

"Parker," Lady Penelope instructed. "Turn right here, would you?"

"Yes, m'Lady," Parker affirmed and made the necessary correction. "H-If you don't mind me h-askin'; why? H-I thought we was 'eadin' to where Mister Alan said 'e'd seen Mr Tracy."

"And so we are, Parker. But it's still too early in the day to do any, ah, 'snooping' in the research complex. And since we're in the vicinity of Jeff's office, I thought we'd pay a visit. I should like to have a word with Mr Tracy's personal assistant before we leave the country and I daresay that if we wait until after we've examined Alan's warehouse, Miss Fordbury will have left work for the day."

"Very good, m'Lady." Parker stopped the shocking pink Rolls Royce outside the imposing building. "Do you want me to come h-in?"

Lady Penelope watched as a man tried to remove the letters 'murd' scrawled on the front of the building. "No. I feel that you may learn more from staying out here."

Parker followed her gaze. "Rightio then." He opened the gull-wing door and assisted his mistress out of the car.

Lady Penelope strode into the foyer of the Kansas City office of Tracy Industries and walked up to the young woman manning the reception desk.

The receptionist smiled up at the visitor. "May I help you?"

"I do hope so," Lady Penelope gushed. "I was hoping I could have a word with Mr Tracy's personal assistant, Miss Fordbury."

The receptionist became wary, obviously considering the possibility that Lady Penelope was a reporter. "May I have your name?"

"Certainly. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. Miss Fordbury and I have met before."

As she waited for the receptionist to announce her arrival, Lady Penelope looked about her. Above the reception desk hung a portrait of Jeff Tracy, black crepe framing his photo. A lump formed in her throat as she took in his rugged features. "He was a handsome man," she commented.

The receptionist glanced at the photo. "He was. He was a very special man, a caring man who took an interest in everyone, no matter who you were… Unfortunately not everyone believes that." Intrigued by the comment, Lady Penelope waited to see if the woman was going to expand on her statement, but the young American had clearly decided that she'd overstepped the mark and was in the process of steering the conversation back to safer ground. "I've always liked that picture. If you look at it long enough you'd swear he's trying to hide a secret…" A light flashed on the switchboard. "Miss Fordbury will see you now."

"Thank you," Lady Penelope said.

---F-A-B---

Parker tossed his chauffeurs hat onto the driver's seat of the Rolls Royce before wandering over to the maintenance man. "Some people ain't got no respect," he began by way of conversation.

The maintenance man glanced at him. "No," he agreed before returning to his work. "No respect and a lot of cheek. Only happened a half hour ago. Some punk walks along, bold as brass, and sprays 'murderer' right across the front of the building."

"Didn't someone see 'im?" Parker asked.

"Sure. Lotsa people. But no one did anythin'. They prefer to leave it to the cops," he pointed up into a recess in the veranda, "and the security cameras."

"Murderer?" Parker queried. "Why murderer?"

"You not from these parts?" the maintenance man asked. "You know about Mr Tracy's accident?" Parker assured him that he did. "A lotta people died in that crash. Some people are lookin' for someone to blame. Mr Tracy's an easy target."

"You don't blame 'im though?"

"Me? Nah. Mr Tracy was a good man. He'd always greet me by name; I wasn't just another worker to him. There's no way he could be at fault. He'd take his own life before takin' anyone else's, especially innocent women and kids. Unfortunately a lot of people are grievin' and aren't seein' straight."

"What do you think 'appened?"

The maintenance man shrugged. "Who knows? I understand it was a new plane. Maybe there was somethin' wrong with it."

---F-A-B---

Lady Penelope was ushered into a reception area. "Miss Fordbury will be with you shortly," she was informed.

Shortly proved to be almost immediately and Lady Penelope extended her hand in greeting. "Pen. I'm sorry we have to meet again in such circumstances."

Pen Fordbury was a young Englishwoman who was as proud of her British heritage as she was of the fact that she worked for Jeff Tracy. Intelligent, resourceful, exceedingly good at her job, and the person Jeff had regarded as his most trusted Tracy Industries employee, she also harboured a secret crush on Gordon Tracy. She greeted Lady Penelope as she would any member of the British aristocracy, but with a warmth reserved for personal friends of her late employer. "Won't you come into the office, Lady Penelope?"

Lady Penelope inclined her head. "Thank you. I'm so sorry to be taking up your time."

"Think nothing of it. To tell you the truth I'm at a bit of a loss. There's plenty of work to do, but I don't know where to start. And things are up in the air at the moment with no direction. We haven't heard a word from Jeff's family."

"I've just returned from the island," Lady Penelope volunteered.

"Really? How are they?"

Lady Penelope delicately bit her lip. "I wish I could say that they were coping, but Jeff's death has rocked them. The press have been hounding them and they've cut themselves off from the outside world."

"So that explains why I haven't been able to reach them on the phone or fax," Pen said. "But I would have thought that they would be able to receive the post… or emails."

"When I was there they hadn't opened the mailbag," Lady Penelope admitted. "And I believe that Scott has been using his own email address for communications associated with the accident. I would doubt that he's been looking at his father's to avoid being confronted with the world's media."

"Oh…" Pen commented. "They are struggling, aren't they?"

"That is why I have come to see you," Lady Penelope lied. "I thought that if you could let me know how Jeff filled his last few hours then perhaps they will start to come to terms with this tragedy."

"Of course. Let me get his diary." Pen hurried into Jeff's office.

Lady Penelope followed, once again feeling the lump forming in her throat as she took in the rich surroundings of Jeff Tracy's domain. She stood admiring a photo of Tracy Island as Pen reached into a drawer, withdrawing a large volume.

"Here we are," Pen opened the diary at the fateful day. She ran her finger down the entries. "Nothing to do with Tracy Industries. He was here before I arrived to meet a Mr Spencer." She looked thoughtful. "I remember that Jeff seemed rather… solemn when Mr Spencer left. He commented that sometimes it pays to listen to your gut instincts."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I'd never heard of Mr Spencer before. Jeff arranged that appointment himself."

Lady Penelope looked at the diary. "I see that he visited Angus Brett at 11am. Had he cheered up by then?"

"Funny you should mention that," Pen looked thoughtful. "No he hadn't. He said something about it being a sad day. It's not written in here, but as soon as I arrived at work he asked me to arrange a meeting with Mr Walker of 'Walker and Crawford'. He saw Mr Walker, then Mr Brett, came back to work, finalised another couple of things and then left for the airport." Her voice caught in her throat.

Lady Penelope gave the young lady a moment to compose herself. "How was he the previous day?"

Pen turned back a page. "Oh, yes," she smiled. "He was much happier that day. He'd finalised a deal that he'd been working on for months. He told me he was going to get his hair cut to celebrate." She laughed before pointing at another entry. He shouted me lunch and then I dropped him off at the blood donation centre. The chauffeur picked him up afterwards."

"He gave blood?"

Pen nodded. "Yes. He did so most visits." She stared at the diary. "When I first heard about… heard what had happened, I did wonder if he'd fainted from blood loss. But he'd made his donation over 24 hours before the…" she swallowed. "That can't have had anything to do with it. He'd never had any problems in the past."

"Where is the centre?"

"The clinic is in Denys Street. The funny thing is that it was reported in the news that evening that they had had a break in. Jeff said they must have seen that it was a blood bank and got the wrong idea." Pen looked back at the diary. "The rest of his time was taken up with work related activities. He seemed happy in his work." She shut the diary and a slip of paper fell out. She picked it up. "Oh, it's the receipt from lunch! I'm in such a muddle that I haven't made a record of it yet. I must write this up. Do excuse me, Lady Penelope?"

"Of course."

Pen returned to her office leaving Lady Penelope alone in Jeff's. Feeling as if she were intruding into the private life of a friend, Lady Penelope had a quick look around, but found nothing of interest. She pretended to be admiring a photo of the five Tracy boys when Pen returned carrying a notebook. "See, I told you I was in a muddle. I'd forgotten the receipt." The P.A. opened the notebook on Jeff's desk and began writing. Then she slammed her ballpoint on the table. "Look at me! I've just gone and spelt cheque with a Q U again. If Jeff was here now he'd say. 'Look here, Penelope...' He always called me Penelope when he teased me, because he knew I didn't like it. 'Look here, Penelope. You're in America now. You've got to learn to spell our way'." Pen gave a misty eyed smile. "And I'd tease him back, saying that we English were spelling cheque with a Q U before Christopher Columbus was out of nappies. Then he'd correct me by saying that the correct word was 'diapers'." She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "He was a hard worker, but never afraid to have a laugh."

"He was a good man," Lady Penelope empathised.

"He was a great man," Pen amended. "A caring man. The sad thing is that most of the world won't know how caring and selfless he was."

Lady Penelope reflected on the truth of this statement; even if her companion was not aware of its full implications.

Trying to regain her equilibrium Pen continued talking. "You've worked for him, haven't you?"

"In a manner of speaking," Lady Penelope said. "Life can be so boring without a little variety."

"I thought so. I remember Jeff saying once that he employed me because he liked to have a Penelope in his employment who would actually do what she was told." Pen laughed.

"I'm sure there was more to it than that," Lady Penelope corrected, knowing that Pen's efficiency and pleasant manner were the real reasons why Jeff Tracy had asked her to leave England. "Will you stay on and work for whoever takes over the helm of Tracy Industries?"

"I don't know. I will for the short term at least; until they learn the ropes. Then I'll see. It won't be the same without Jeff Tracy sitting at the desk. Maybe it would be a better to make a complete break…" Pen took up the photo that Lady Penelope had just replaced on the desk. "Do you think one of his sons will take over their father's role?"

"Somehow I doubt it," Lady Penelope said. "None of them have expressed any interest in taking over from Jeff; they all have their own skills and interests."

Pen replaced the photo. "Are you going to be returning to the island soon?"

"I am expecting to return tomorrow."

"In that case, would you mind taking something for me?" Pen returned to her office and this time Lady Penelope followed her. "I was going to freight these to the island," Pen was holding several thick, bound books, "but, if it's not an imposition, perhaps you would be willing to take them for me?"

"Of course," Lady Penelope agreed. "What are they?

"Memoriam books. Each employee of Tracy Industries in the States has signed as a mark of respect. Perhaps Jeff's family will feel better knowing how much he will be missed."

Lady Penelope surveyed the thick volumes. "Every employee?"

Pen nodded. "I believe so." She opened one book at the first page. "This book is from the Kansas Aviation factory and this message is from Sam Watson. He's off work as he is undergoing treatment for cancer. The idea of the book was his. The management liked the idea so much that they told the other branches under the Tracy Industries umbrella and they've all made one. People have been getting out of their sick bed in order to sign it."

"Even Mr Watson?" Lady Penelope commented.

"He's a brave man," Pen said. "Jeff visited him while he was here and commented on how he's still cheerful despite the fact that the prognosis is bleak… I'll get someone to carry these down for you," she added stacking the memoriam books together.

Lady Penelope looked at her watch. "I had better be going. Thank you for your assistance, Pen. I am sure that what you have told me will bring comfort to the Tracy Family."

"I hope so… and perhaps you could ask one of them to contact the company lawyers. They have been trying without success to reach Tracy Island."

"I will do that, though they seem to be shying away from the company business. But in light of their present financial situation…"

"Present financial situation?"

"I know I shouldn't be telling you this, and I trust you'll be discreet," Lady Penelope lowered her voice, "but Jeff has left them with rather a large debt."

"Jeff owed money?"

Lady Penelope nodded. This disclosure of the Tracy's personal business went against all her instincts, but if it could help... "They have to sell the island to repay the debt."

Pen Fordbury frowned in consternation. "But that can't be right."

"I know it came as a shock to us all. And it has hit the boys hardest; they have inherited the debt and little else."

"No, I don't mean that…" Pen exclaimed. "Well, yes it is a shock. But that he was in debt can't be possible! Jeff never discussed his private finances with me, and naturally I never asked. But…"

"Yes?"

"I was opening his mail the other day and I accidentally opened his private bank statement. Naturally I told him straight away and apologised. He laughed and then pretended to be serious as he said, 'you realise this means I'm going to have to kill you?'" Pen gave a wistful smile before the frown returned. "I hadn't meant to look, and I didn't take in the actual number, but I did see his balance and it wasn't written in red. And…" Pen appeared to be wrestling with her conscience. "I did notice the number of digits in the total." She bit her lip and looked at Lady Penelope.

"Was there anything remarkable in that?"

"Only that any one of his companies would have been proud to have a bank balance of that size."

---F-A-B---

"Nosey?"

Still talking to the maintenance man, Parker started at his nickname.

"Nosey Parker? Is that you?"

Parker spied the owner of the voice. "Yorkie?" He excused himself and strode over to the thin, weedy man in the flat cap. "Yorkie Entwhistle!" he grinned. "Wot are you doin' over this side of the ditch? Last I 'eard you were bein' accommodated courtesy of 'is Majesty."

"Got orf, di'n't I." Yorkie replied. "'Ad a bit o' help." He gave Parker, in his uniform, an appraising look. "Look at yer all dolled up! What 'ave yer bin up ter?"

"'Ere," Parker opened one of the gull-wing doors of FAB1. "'Op in where we can talk."

Laughing, Yorkie snatched Parker's chauffeur's hat off the driver's seat and put it on his own head before swinging into Lady Penelope's seat. "Wot's awl this then?"

Parker claimed the driver's seat and pushed the button which closed the car's door. "Gone straight."

"Gerraway. Nosey Parker? Straight? Never."

"Yep. Got meself a cushy number wiv one of London's toffs," Parker bragged.

"But yer were the best safecracker in the busyness."

Parker cracked his knuckles. "I keep me 'and in. The guv'ner keeps on forgettin' the combination to 'is safe," he lied. "Or else 'er Ladyship needs to get at 'er jewels in a 'urry. So, wot are you doin' here, Yorkie?"

"All part of the deal. This gezzer said 'e'd git me orf if I'd come work for 'im over 'ere."

"And the missus?" Parker asked.

"Glad to be shot o' me. She's takin' up wiv the barman at the 'Cock n' Bull'."

"You're lookin' well," Parker said.

Yorkie suddenly lost his jovial manner "Dunno fer 'ow much longer," he admitted. "If I could I'd catch the next plane ter England and turn mesel' over ter the first Bobby I saw, I would… Can I tell yer a secret?"

Concerned Parker looked at his friend and fellow con. "Course you can."

"I'd rather be in Parkmoor than workin' for the boss. 'E's bad news, Nosey."

"'Ow do ya mean?"

"'Cause 'is employees 'ave a short life span. No one oo crosses 'im lives fer long." Then Yorkie indicated the imposing edifice of the Tracy Industries building. "Did yer know o' Tracy?"

Intrigued, Parker pressed a minute switch on the underside of the steering wheel. "Yeah I did. 'E was a good bloke. Knew me backgroun', but still treated me right. That's why I'm 'ere. 'Er Ladyship's payin' 'er respects."

"Word orn the street's that 'e was murdered…"

Parker went cold.

"…And that me boss, 'The Earl' as 'e likes ter be called, was responsible."

"'E murdered Mr Tracy? Why?"

"Dunno. Earl's already top dog in the mid-west. 'E wants ter be King o' the 'ole country."

"Why does 'the street' think 'e murdered Mr Tracy?"

"'Cause Earl's right-'and man, Miles, ain't bin about lately. Nasty bit o' work. Word is 'e shot 'is own mother ta prove 'is loyalty ta Earl."

"Nice sort."

"Yer. 'E was last seen at the airport Tracy left from."

"But wot would 'The Earl' gain from Mr Tracy's death?"

"Dunno. They don' confide in lowlifes like me."

"So I know oo to keep clear off, wot does this Miles look like?"

Yorkie thought for a moment. "'Member Crusher Thompson?"

"Yeah," Parker recollected.

"'E's a beauty queen alongside 'Orace Miles."

"H-And Earl?"

"Dunno. Never seen 'im. 'E always works through an intermediary. Wouldn' sully 'is own 'ands."

"Thanks, Yorkie. I'll keep me eyes open."

Yorkie sighed and returned Parker's hat, before replacing his own flat cap. "I'd better be goin'. Don' want ta get yer inta trouble. Nice catchin' up with yer, Nosey."

"You too, Yorkie." Parker opened the gull-wing door and his fellow countryman climbed out of the car. "Look out for yerself."

"I'll try." Yorkie gave Parker an affectionate punch on the shoulder. "Yer keep yer nose clean."

Parker grinned and watched his friend walk away. Then he pushed a button on the dashboard.

A short time later Lady Penelope arrived. "I see you have been busy, Parker," she stated as he assisted her into the car. "I'm afraid that I held up Miss Fordbury for longer than I intended when I received your warning to keep away."

"H-I found out somthin'. I met up with an h-old friend. We was in Parkmoor together…"

Lady Penelope watched in interest as a video recording was played through the monitor in the back of Parker's seat. "It sounds as though your friend may have fallen in with the wrong crowd."

"Yeah. Poor Yorkie. Never could make the right choice. You'd guarantee that if the Old Bill was 'round the right corner, h-and the h-escape car was 'round the left, Yorkie would go right."

"So there is a belief that Jeff was murdered," Lady Penelope mused.

"Don't do much for Mister Alan's cause, does it?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Did you find h-out h-anything, m'Lady?"

"Only that Miss Forbury believes that Jeff was not as destitute as we've been led to believe. Also Jeff saw a mystery man on the morning of his, er, death; then later on that day he saw our Mr Brett."

"But what's it all mean, m'Lady?"

"It means that we still have a mystery on our hands, Parker. I believe that it is time for us to visit the scene of the crime as it were."

_To be continued…_


	12. Searching

**12 Twelve: Searching**

The business day was over and dusk was drawing in when the shocking pink Rolls Royce pulled up outside the warehouse complex. Dressed in his old safe-breaking gear consisting of a baggy, multi-pocketed tracksuit, Parker alighted and moved around to assist his mistress from the car.

Lady Penelope, by contrast, was clad in a figure-hugging, one-piece, black outfit. Designed for complete mobility and with no loose material to catch on inconvenient snags, it seemed to her to be the ideal outfit for their clandestine mission: guaranteed to disarm wannabe attackers (in more ways than one). Parker, on the other hand, thought that it was ideal for distracting him from their task. With an effort he reminded himself of his relationship with the young woman, and admonished himself for having less than proper thoughts. 'She's young h-enough to be your daughter, you h-idiot," he reprimanded himself.

Lady Penelope was unaware of the emotions that she was stirring in her companion as she examined the lock on the gate. "This appears easy enough to deal with, Parker. Would you care to have the pleasure or shall I?"

"Allow me, m'Lady," Parker said, and withdrew his lock-picking kit from a pocket. A short time later the chain that held the gate closed hung loose. "Where to now?"

Lady Penelope consulted her notes. "Alan said it was down here." She led the way.

"Very good, m'Lady." Treading carefully, Parker followed in her footsteps. Soon they found themselves outside a derelict building that matched Alan's description.

"D'ya think this is it?" Parker asked.

"I assume so," Lady Penelope replied. She focused a scanner on the front of the building. "It appears to be empty." She slipped through the door.

Once inside they slid night vision goggles over their eyes to aid their search in the dark, windowless interior. Parker looked around the foyer of the warehouse. "There's tons of places where they could 'ide h-anyone."

"Yes…" Lady Penelope mused. "But Alan did say that he saw his father down at the back of the building. Down here I think," she pointed, before moving off.

"H-Into the lion's den," Parker muttered, as he followed her down a hallway.

They came to an intact door, which Lady Penelope scanned before pushing open. They were in another corridor lined with solid wooden doors. Ignoring these Lady Penelope strode down to a door at the far end.

It was locked and bolted and had a glass panel installed in the top section.

"H-Is this h-it?" Parker queried.

"I think so," Lady Penelope replied. "For someone who was suffering from a head injury, Alan has a remarkably accurate recollection of the layout of this building."

"So you think Mr Tracy was h-in 'ere?"

"I don't know, Parker." Lady Penelope peered through the glass partition. "It looks deserted."

Parker was examining the lock. "This h-is pretty old, m'Lady. Looks like it ain't been touched h-in years."

"Well, it is time it was 'touched'. Open it, Parker."

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker's deft fingers made quick work of the ancient lock. "'Ello!"

Lady Penelope leant closer. "What have you found?"

"See this?" Parker held up the padlock so she could get a clearer view of it. "H-Every lock that I've jimmied that's been left locked for donkey's h-ears, 'as 'ad a clean end to the shackle. This one's h-all rusty. H-I'd stake me reputation that h-it's been left h-open for yonks. Also…" he placed his finger over the keyhole and gave the lock a vigorous shake. He held up his finger. "H-Oil. This 'as been h-oiled recently. Probably so h-it could be locked 'ere."

"Well spotted, Parker," Lady Penelope murmured. "Let's see what other surprises we shall find inside."

The door was a tight fit and Parker had to put his shoulder to it to lever it open.

The room was empty and windowless.

Parker spied a light switch inside the door and, without much hope, flipped it. Two incandescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling glowed brightly. "Nice of 'em to leave the power h-on."

"In a deserted warehouse? It's not only nice; it's incredible. I can't see any utility company leaving their services connected without payment, nor any landlord leaving the power connected unnecessarily." Then Lady Penelope froze. "Something's wrong."

"You're tellin' me."

"No, Parker. Smell!"

"Smell?" Parker took a big sniff at the air. "H-I don't smell anyfin'."

"That's just it. Neither do I… I remember the attic at my great-aunt Lydia's house. It had two bare globes such as these. I'd sneak up there whenever I was doomed to stay the weekend with her. Every time I turned the light on there would be a strong smell of burning. It was the dust burning off the light bulbs." Lady Penelope looked at the floor and indicated the swathe of dust that had been scraped clear by the door. "These bulbs should be thick with dust."

"Like the floor," Parker added. "There's no footprints h-or nuffin'.

"Almost conveniently so. I am inclined to think that someone has laid this dust down for our benefit. Let us search the room."

There was no trace of the straw that Alan had said was Jeff's bedding. Nor was there any trace of Jeff Tracy.

Parker stood in the middle of the room and looked at their footprints, which now covered almost every square inch of the floor. "Nuffin', m'Lady..." Something caught his eye. "'Ang on…"

"What is it, Parker?"

"Dunno…" Parker got one of his finer tools from out of his kit and started probing into a crack where the floor met the wall. As Lady Penelope watched something moved and then rolled out onto the concrete. "Ah, gotcha!" He laid his prize on the palm of his hand and showed his mistress.

"It looks too small to be Jeff's," Lady Penelope said doubtfully.

Parker had retrieved his jeweller's eyepiece from a pocket and was looking at the object more closely. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be 'is h-originally." He handed the object and eyepiece to Lady Penelope.

"I see what you mean," Lady Penelope agreed. "Do you have somewhere secure you can carry this?"

"H-I'll put h-it h-in me kit," Parker offered, and the kit and its mysterious cargo were soon safely ensconced in a pocket. "H-It won't get lost there."

Lady Penelope was examining the area where the object had been hidden. "There's no dust in the crack. Either our treasure has been there for as long as this room has been locked up or, as I suspect, the dust was purposely laid down very recently."

"So, now what do we do, m'Lady?"

"Now we head for FAB4. There is much that I would like to investigate in this city, but to do so without confirmation that we're on the right track would be foolhardy. It is time that we returned to Tracy Island, Parker!"

"Yes, m'Lady."

---F-A-B---

Gordon cleaved through the water in the pool, the dawn sun reflecting off his back. This wasn't the aimless paddling he'd been indulging in over the previous few days. This was part of his regular training regime.

He reached the end of a lap and found himself face-to-toe with a pair of feet. He looked up at their owner. "John?"

"Can we talk?"

Gordon gave a wry smile. "I don't know that we're the guys to ask that. These last few days I've been saying too much and you haven't said enough." He pulled himself out of the pool so he was sitting beside his brother. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't want to interrupt your training. When you've finished will be fine."

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. "I've finished. I've done enough swimming over the last few days to last me a year." John didn't laugh. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I want to explain why I didn't tell you about Dad at the Sunflower Mall."

"Don't worry about it, John. I'm over that. I wanted to be mad at somebody, and you and Virgil were the easiest targets. I'm sorry that I took it out on you."

John splashed the water with his bare foot. "No, I want to explain."

A look of concern crossed Gordon's face. "Okay."

John began hesitantly. "It wasn't… only you I was concerned about… I think… I think that if I'd had the opportunity I would have kept it from Virgil too... But I was still in shock when he came over to see what was holding me up."

Gordon waited.

"Do you remember when Ma died?"

"Nope." Gordon shook his head. "I was too young."

"I remember. I remember the pain of knowing that one of the most important people in my life was never going to be there anymore. I remember wanting to crawl away and hide somewhere."

"And not interact with anyone?" Gordon guessed.

John nodded. "Scott was always in a bad temper and didn't want to eat, and Virgil would eat everything put in front of him. I remember him standing in front of the pantry looking pitifully up at the handle and not being able to reach. It probably saved him from turning into a butterball."

Gordon chuckled.

"And, if I remember correctly, you kept on crying. The only time when you'd quieten down would be when you were being bathed."

"And Alan?"

"I don't remember him doing anything different. I think he must have been too young to comprehend that anything was wrong." John splashed the water. "I don't know how Dad coped. He had to deal with his own grief as well as ours…"

"But he had help though, didn't he?" Gordon asked.

John nodded before continuing on. "If we hadn't had caring adults about us to pull us back into line, I hate to think what state we would have ended up in… and Dad would have been a nervous wreck."

"You guys have really interesting ways of dealing with grief."

"Better than trying to get chlorine poisoning."

"Point taken."

"Anyway, finding that registration plate was such a shock that I didn't know if Virgil and I could function normally, so I needed to make sure that at least one of us kept a clear head."

"It's okay, John. Alan explained it to me. He said that it wasn't that you didn't think that I could cope; it was that you weren't sure that you could."

John nodded. "He was right… And... And I suppose… deep down… I was trying to protect my kid brother… Not because I didn't think you could handle it… but because I didn't want you to have to." He looked up to the skies, squinting against the early morning sun. "But… if we ever found ourselves in the same situation, Gordon," he looked back at his brother, "I'd do the same thing again."

"You wouldn't tell me?"

"Not until we'd finished the rescue. There was too much riding on it."

Gordon kicked the water and watched the ripples disperse. "I suppose I can understand that."

"But what I can't forgive myself for doing," John admitted, "or not doing… is not telling you myself. When the time came to tell you the bad news, I couldn't speak. You made the comment about 'some idiot flying his plane into the mall'…"

"Don't remind me," Gordon begged.

"…And I choked… I couldn't do it! I chickened out and left Virgil to give you the bad news."

Gordon put a wet arm around his brother's shoulders. "Don't worry about it, John. It's in the past. It's time to get on with our lives."

"I'm sorry," John reiterated.

"Forget it," Gordon said. "I have." He gave a sudden impish grin. "Come on, let's go and drag the 'Cookie Monster' out of bed and chase him around the island. Time he started losing some of that flab…"

* * *

FAB1 pulled into the car park of the private airport. "You secure the Rolls Royce, Parker," Lady Penelope instructed. "I'll go and prepare FAB4." 

"Very good, m'Lady."

Lady Penelope looked at her watch. "With any luck we'll be on Tracy Island in time to miss lunch. You'd better arrange something to eat while we're on the flight."

"Yes, m'Lady."

* * *

Scott Tracy entered the lounge, munching on a piece of toast. He stopped to listen to his brother practise the piano. "Can't you play something more cheerful? 

Virgil, who'd only just managed to escape John and Gordon's clutches, looked at him. "Cheerful?"

"Yes, cheerful. All these dirges aren't doing anything to improve the atmosphere of the place."

"I won't be very good. I'm out of practice."

"I don't care if it's no good...!" Scott stopped, took a deep breath and started to speak again; determined to remain calm. "Please, Virg. Try? It might go some way to making us all feel better. How about something from that 'King and I' thing?"

"Okay," Virgil shrugged. He held his hands above the keyboard and then let them drop into his lap. "Want to hear something crazy?"

Scott wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. "Shoot."

"I can't think of anything cheerful." Virgil stood and started going through the sheet music in his piano stool, muttering to himself as he did so. "No… No… No good… Mozart's Requiem! Definitely not! ... No…" He shut the lid to the stool. "There's nothing here. I must have taken all my lighter pieces down to the music room." An idea came to him. "Why don't the five of us go down there and start planning the concert?"

"Concert?"

"Yes. The concert for Father."

Scott frowned at his brother. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. I'm sure there must be some people who want to honour him. Who better to arrange it than his sons?"

Scott's frown deepened. "A memorial concert?"

"No, a concert - Period. No mention of any memorial. Something to honour Jeff Tracy."

"Don't tell me that Alan's sold you on his crazy story?" Scott exclaimed. "It's impossible."

"I know it's impossible," Virgil protested. "But Alan needs to be part of this. Do you think he'd want to help plan the memorial to a man that he thinks is still alive?"

"No…" Scott agreed.

"So we call it a concert, pure and simple. Then, when Lady Penelope proves that Alan had a hallucination, or saw a stranger, or whatever, he'll still be able to be part of it."

"Okay," Scott agreed. "You go make a start on choosing pieces and I'll get the other three."

"Bring your guitars."

A short time later found all five in the music room.

"So what are we going to do at this memorial?" Gordon asked.

"Not memorial," Virgil corrected. "Concert."

Gordon raised an eyebrow and made no comment.

Scott threw an apple core into the rubbish bin, picked up his guitar and tuned it. "Okay. What are we going to have?"

"If nothing else we've got to have the 'Thunderbirds March'," John stated.

"Agreed." Virgil made a note. "But we can't call it that on the programme."

"Programme?" Scott asked. "How big are you planning on having this thing?"

"Not very big. Maybe we could hire the old school hall."

"If we can afford it," Gordon noted.

"Why don't we call it the 'T. March'?" John suggested. "That way most people will think it stands for 'Tracy'."

"Good," Virgil said. "What else? I've got out the music for some of Father's favourites."

"Nessun Dorma," Scott suggested. "He loved that."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "You could sing it, John."

"Me?"

"You won that competition singing it," Scott reminded him.

"That was years ago! I was only a teenager and the judges felt sorry for me! And it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. If I had to choose between being on stage singing one of the greatest operatic arias of all time, and being on Thunderbird Five during a meteor strike, I'd say bring on the meteors!"

"You were good," Scott suggested.

"I wasn't that good."

"Yes you were," Gordon contradicted. "You had Grandma in raptures."

"I could have sneezed and she would have gone into raptures. She's biased. I know she had visions of me being the next Makisi, but honestly, I wasn't that good."

"Okay," Gordon acquiesced. "But someone's got to sing it for Dad, so I'll give it a go." John's jaw dropped. "Give me the note, Virgil."

Trying not to smile… or grimace in horror, Virgil pressed a note on the piano. "How's that?"

"Too low. Try a couple of octaves higher."

"Gordon!" John exclaimed in exasperation. "You can't sing it higher than that. It's for a tenor!"

"So? I'm more of a 'twelve-or'."

"You'll ruin it if you sing it like that, Gordon," Scott claimed. "I'll do it."

John looked at him. "This is getting worse!"

"Give me that note again," Scott requested. He tried to find the right key. "Nessun… Ness… Ness… How close am I, Virg?"

"I'd say that England is closer."

"Okay, okay!" John held up his hands in surrender. "I'll do it. If only to stop Senor Puccini from spinning in his grave any faster than he already is."

Scott laughed. "You're a good sport, John."

"Yeah, whatever… Just remember that I haven't being doing a lot of vocal training over the last few days. If I'm going to embarrass myself or the crowd's going to be too big, I'm backing out."

"Fair enough," Scott agreed. "What else should we have?"

"Kyrano and Tin-Tin could play a traditional Malaysian piece," Alan suggested.

"Good idea, Alan." Virgil made a note on his pad. "What else? What can you guys play? We should try to limit the solos and play as a group."

"And don't forget John's poem," Scott said. "He's got to read that."

"You can read it," John told him.

"You wrote it. It would be better coming from you."

"Scott… If you're going to force me to sing in public then YOU can read the poem!"

Scott shrugged. "We'll see."

They worked together for a little longer roughing out a basic programme. After a while the serious nature of their task gave way to good-natured banter and joking. At one point, wondering what the noise was coming from the music room, Tin-Tin poked her head inside and was astounded to find the five boys laughing.

"He likes 'Beatles' songs," Alan remembered. "We should have at least one."

"Yeah!" Gordon enthused. "'Yellow Submarine'." He played the opening chords on his guitar.

"That's your theme song, not his," John admonished. "'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' would be more appropriate."

"Or 'Across the Universe'," Virgil suggested.

Gordon's eyes twinkled. "Not, 'I am the Walrus', then?"

"Rocket Man!" Alan stated.

"Good idea… Except that's not a Beatles song," Virgil told him.

"Brains could sing it." Gordon grinned. "He's already got Elton John's glasses for it!"

His brothers cracked up.

For the second time in as many days Scott Tracy found himself wiping tears from his eyes. "I'd forgotten how good it feels to laugh," he admitted. He looked around at his four brothers. "Do you guys realise that, whatever the outcome of Penny's investigation, opportunities like this are going to be pretty rare from now on. We're not going to be able to spend quality time together."

"Killjoy," Gordon grumbled.

John smiled. "I've always felt that it made those opportunities all the more special."

Scott sighed and laid down his guitar. "I suppose we should think about doing some work."

"Do you guys want me to help you lay more charges?" Alan offered.

"Alan?"

"I'm not saying that I think I'm wrong. But I don't want anyone saying that I'm not pulling my weight."

"We wouldn't do that," John told his youngest brother.

"All I ask is that we don't destroy anything until we hear back from Penny," Alan begged.

Scott nodded. "Fair enough. I'd be happier waiting until the moment before we leave the island anyway. Is everyone okay with that?"

He received four nods of affirmation.

* * *

The shocking pink FAB4 touched down on the Tracy Island airstrip and taxied up to the hangar. "'Ow long are you planning on stayin', m'Lady?" Parker asked. 

"Until I know whether or not we're on the right track."

Parker pointed out the window at Scott Tracy who was standing on the edge of the airstrip. "Looks like the welcomin' party's waitin'. D'you want me to stay 'ere?"

"In light of our last conversation, that might be wise, Parker," Lady Penelope admitted as she stepped out of the plane. "When it's, ah, safe, perhaps you'll bring up that bag Miss Fordbury gave us?"

"Yes, m'Lady."

Scott walked towards the aeroplane, his hand extended in greeting. "Lady Penelope?" He shook her hand in a formal manner. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Scott Tracy. I believe that you've recently communicated with my evil twin."

"Scott?"

He gave a wry grin. "I was hoping to catch you alone. I wanted to thank you for giving me the necessary kick up the… seat of the pants. And I wanted to apologise for what I said last time."

"I wasn't blameless myself."

"But you were trying to help and all I did was knock you back. I'm sorry, Penny."

"Apology accepted, dear boy," Lady Penelope gave him a kiss on the cheek. "How is everything…? And everyone?"

"We're getting there… slowly."

"And Alan?"

"Physically on the mend. Emotionally…" Scott let the sentence hang with a shrug. "It'll depend on whether you'd discovered anything." He looked at her hopefully.

"We have discovered something…"

"What?" Scott sounded eager.

"Now, Scott. The information I have is for Alan."

"Oh," Scott tried to hide his disappointment. "Okay." He indicated Parker, who was still in the plane. "Is he trying to keep clear in case one of us tosses the other into the tide?"

"He did think it prudent to keep a low profile."

Scott chuckled and jogged over to the plane. "It's okay, Parker. I'm not going to bite." He eyed the large bag that Parker was manhandling with interest. "If you want to take the monocar up to the house, I've reinstated it."

"Mrs Tracy h-agreed?" Parker asked.

"She doesn't know yet," Scott admitted. "Don't tell her."

"What a shame," Lady Penelope said. "I was rather looking forward to the walk."

"We can still do that if you want," Scott offered. "See you up there, Parker." The butler was more than a little relieved that he didn't have to face the prospect of carting the heavy bag up the steep slope.

Scott and Lady Penelope began the stroll up towards the villa. "After you'd told me off," Scott began, "I got to thinking… And I realised that you were right. I realised that none of us were coping, so we've agreed to at least try to get ourselves back on track in the hope that it might help Alan. We've also agreed not to mention the sale of the island until you've got hard evidence. And Alan's told us he's asked for your help; he said he'll go along with whatever we say once you've finished your investigation…" He glanced at his companion. "Whatever result you find."

"There's no point asking, Scott. I am not going to tell you."

"Not even a hint?"

"Not even a hint."

"I'm his big brother, Penny. I want to be able to help him. You said yourself that normally I'd be putting aside my own feelings to help my brothers, and I can do it better if I know what he's going to be facing."

Lady Penelope sidestepped the issue. "Where is Alan?"

"Helping everyone wire up the pod vehicles with explosives."

Lady Penelope stopped in her tracks. "What!"

"He hasn't changed his mind, but he doesn't want us thinking that he's goldbricking. Not until you've reported back…" he looked at his friend in open curiosity. "So you've found something interesting?"

"Scott!" Lady Penelope was beginning to sound exasperated. "I have found something. It is up to Alan to decide if it is of interest."

Scott was not going to be so easily dissuaded. "Animal, Vegetable or mineral?"

"Yes."

"Penny!"

Lady Penelope sighed. "Since you want to play '20 questions; 'Animal'."

"Bigger than a bread box?"

"Yes."

"Does it have scales?"

"No."

"Feathers?"

"No."

"Fur?"

Lady Penelope hesitated. "Well… No."

Scott thought as he clambered up the path. "Animal. No fur, scales or feathers and bigger than a bread box. Does it have four legs?"

"No. Not usually."

"Not usually?!"

Lady Penelope smiled an enigmatic smile. "It would depend on how many of you are inside."

"Huh?"

"Oh, dear me, I never was any good at this game. I'm afraid I've rather given myself away."

"You've bamboozled me, Penny."

"Have I, dear boy, how simply wonderful. I should hate for you to guess 'The Mole' before you've used up all twenty questions."

They'd reached the courtyard; and Scott stopped and stared at his friend. "The Mole? You were thinking about the Mole?"

"Of course? What else?"

"I thought you were giving me clues about what you'd found for Alan!"

"Oh, no. I was merely partaking in a simple game to pass the time."

"Penny!" Scot exclaimed in exasperation. "Can't you at least tell me if what you've found is good or bad news? So that I can prepare myself either way!"

"I could, except that I won't know if it's good or bad news until Alan has confirmed that 'it' is what we think it is… If it's any comfort," Lady Penelope laid a hand on Scott's arm. "I think that it is good news." She gave his arm a squeeze. "Now!" She turned back to the villa and started walking again. "Would you mind if I spoke to him?"

---F-A-B---

Alan was in Thunderbird Two's pod bay, helping Gordon wind the demolition cable between the 'threads' on The Mole's screw nose, when his watch beeped. "What can I do for you, Scott?"

Scott, slightly put out by Lady Penelope's stubbornness, was succinct and to the point. "Penny's here. She wants a word with you."

Alan went cold. "Oh," he said quietly as the link was disconnected. He looked at his older brothers. "I guess this is it."

"I guess," Gordon agreed.

Alan jumped down and hesitated. "Do you guys want to come?"

"Do you want us?" John asked, peering down from the back of The Mole.

"Yeah," Alan nodded. "I think I'd like that."

Virgil and John, who'd been trying to convince his brother to help him get out of singing in the 'concert', clambered down and followed their two youngest brothers out of the pod bay.

The lounge was already full of people. Kyrano laid a teapot and several bone china cups on the coffee table and turned to leave.

"No, don't go, Kyrano," Alan requested. He turned back to Lady Penelope. "I've told them what I asked you to do, so you can speak freely."

"Very well," Lady Penelope agreed. She unzipped her well fitting pink flight jacket and reached inside. They heard the sound of another zip as in inside pocket was opened. She retrieved a small, flat velvet box from the pocket. "I hope, Alan, that this is what you are looking for."

Tentatively Alan held out his hand and Lady Penelope placed the box onto it. He drew his hand back towards his body and looked at the object. This wasn't what he'd expected.

"Open it, Alan," Gordon coaxed.

Alan looked round at his family. They were all looking at him with varying degrees of concern. No one else moved as he flipped open the tiny lid.

He stared at the box's contents; then he touched the object and examined it briefly. His face was expressionless.

Scott was standing in front of his father's desk, watching in confusion. "What is it, Alan?"

Instead of answering Alan held the box out towards his brother, who glanced at Lady Penelope and Parker before accepting it. He removed the contents; placing the box on the desk and examined the object in detail. "I don't believe it!"

"What is it, Scott?" Virgil moved closer.

Scott placed the object on the palm of his hand and held the gold band out for all to see. "It's Ma's wedding ring."

"What!?" There were several exclamations about the room.

"Are you sure, Scott?" Lady Penelope asked. "I needed to make sure before I…"

He was nodding. "I'm sure. You can read the inscription, 'J. & L. T.' and their wedding date. Father wore it on a chain about his neck; you can see where it's worn on the edge…" He looked back at Lady Penelope. "Where did you find it?"

"In the room where Alan saw your father."

"He's alive?" Gordon yelped.

"Where is he now?" John asked; his face lighting up.

"I don't know, John," Lady Penelope replied and his face fell again. "There was no evidence that anyone had been there. The room had been most carefully camouflaged to make it appear to have been deserted for months, if not years. If it hadn't been for Parker's," she looked at her companion's most obvious feature, "ah, nose for precious objects, we should never have found this."

Scott had leant over the desk and was reaching into a drawer. He brought out a black velvet bag and tipped its contents onto his hand. Beside the delicate gold band that was his mother's wedding ring, now lay a larger, blackened item; something that looked like it had been through a tremendous fire. "It was Father's," he explained. "The authorities couriered it, special delivery, yesterday. They found it in the plane… or what was left of it."

"May I?" Lady Penelope reached over and picked up the larger ring. She examined the inscription. "It looks the same to me. Perhaps you would care to give us your expert opinion, Parker."

"Of course, m'Lady." Parker took the ring with dignity and examined it under his jeweller's eyeglass then he compared it with the other. "They look to 'ave been h-inscribed h-at the same time. The metal h-is not 'igh quality…"

"No," Mrs Tracy remarked. "They couldn't afford anything expensive then. He had to borrow the money for the rings from his father…" She smiled at the memories. "Both rings meant the world to him, but the neck-chain he wore Lucille's ring on had a greater monetary value."

"It was platinum and had our initials on it," Scott explained. "The 'full stop' between the letters was set with a diamond. He used to laugh after he'd been for check-ups and say how it would make medical staff crazy trying to guess what S-J-V-G-A stood for. They thought it was some new type of computer monitor…"

"Until Virgil would be brought up in conversation," Gordon interrupted.

"…But he would refuse to remove Ma's ring for anything," Scott continued on.

"That's right," Grandma agreed. "To Jeff her wedding ring was priceless. He's worn that ring, close to his heart, almost since the day Lucille died. You'd never know he wore it, but it was always there."

"But what about the chain?" Virgil asked. "The chain must have been with the ring! He never takes either of them off!"

"Virgil's right," John said. "If you found Ma's ring, the chain must have been nearby."

"H-I am sorry, Mister John," Parker said. "There was nothin' else there. I'd stake me reputation on it."

"There's got to be some logical reason why Ma's ring was in that room," Scott said. "But what?"

This was the final straw for Alan. He rounded on his oldest brother. "The logical reason is that our father was in that room, and left Ma's ring there as a clue for us to find!"

"But how can you explain away the Air Accident Investigator's report, Alan? I've been involved in these investigations and I know how they work! The authorities don't release anything unless they are absolutely sure it's a fact!"

"It was only an interim report," Virgil's voice was softer than usual; evidence of his bewilderment. "Maybe they got it wrong."

"Even interim reports have to be accurate," Scott reminded him. "Especially in a public case like this one."

"What's wrong with you, Scott?" Alan asked, his face blazing red with anger. "Why won't you believe me? Why must you only believe what you can see with your own eyes? Isn't it enough for you that I saw him and that Parker found Ma's ring where I saw him? Isn't enough for you that you are holding Ma's ring in your own hand? Isn't it enough for you that I touched him?"

"Alan…"

"Don't you want him to be alive?!"

"Of course I do," Scott replied, shocked and a little hurt by the accusation. "But what about Mr Campbell's reports? Are you trying to say that they are a lie? That someone's deliberately falsified official documents to fool us and the entire world? That's a serious claim."

"Well, I'm making it!"

The family were watching the altercation between the two brothers, their eyes wide as they tried to comprehend what they'd been told.

"You're claiming that the forensic evidence is wrong?" Scott asked. "That independent witnesses aren't telling the truth? Are you trying to tell us that Bill Webber was lying when he said he saw Father get into the plane? Why would he do that? He's a friend; he was Dad's friend. He…"

"I don't know if he was lying, but he wasn't telling the truth!"

"But the evidence in the report…"

"Forget the report! You're holding the true evidence! You're holding Ma's ring!" Alan was visibly shaking. "Forget the evidence of strangers..."

"Alan…"

"I'm your brother, Scott! Believe me!" Alan begged. "Please…" He took a shuddering breath. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

Lady Penelope took a step forward and placed her hand on the young man's arm. "I believe you, Alan."

He looked at her as his anger dissipated. "You do?"

She nodded. "I believe that you saw your father."

"Oh… Penny…" Unable to help himself, he pulled her into a hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "I needed to hear someone say that."

Lady Penelope allowed him to hold her close feeling him shaking from the frustrations of the last 48 hours. "It's all right, Alan. I believe you. I believe that you saw Jeff."

"They don't believe me; they've only been humouring me."

"I'm sure they believe you now."

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Gordon admitted, sinking onto one of the seats. "It sounds so incredible that Dad's still alive, and yet…"

"And yet, how did Ma's ring get into the room where Alan was?" John finished. "And who could it have been that Alan saw if it wasn't Dad?"

"And if it was Father, where is he now?" Virgil retreated to the sanctuary of his piano stool and sat down heavily as though his legs had given out on him.

"My son is alive?" Grandma looked blankly at John as he sat beside her and took her hand.

Everyone turned to Scott. It was like watching one man's private wrestling match as he, confused by the conflicting evidence and Lady Penelope's admission, looked at the small band of gold in his palm. Then he curled his hand around the ring before sagging back onto Jeff's desk. "We've been conned," he admitted.

Alan pulled away from Lady Penelope. "So you all believe me now?" He looked around the room, seeing a sea of shocked faces.

"I think we've got no choice," Scott said. "But that still leaves a lot of questions. Who has done this and why?"

"Alan has a theory," Lady Penelope explained. "And, unfortunately… based on the evidence we've discovered so far… I'm inclined to agree with him."

Alan groaned and collapsed onto a chair. He hid his face in his hands. This time he was comforted by Tin-Tin.

"Who!?" Scott asked. "Who could be so callous?"

Alan raised his head and looked at Scott. His face was strained. "Mr Brett."

Gordon barked out a laugh. "You must be joking! He hasn't got the brains."

"No. But to pull something like this off he'd need help," Alan pointed out.

"Why, Alan?" Scott asked. "Why do you think Mr Brett's behind this?"

"Because Dad told me that his finances are okay. He said he's never been stronger financially."

"And Pen Fordbury confirmed it," Lady Penelope added. "That's why I agree with Alan. That plus the fact that the room where your father was held has been very cleverly camouflaged to make it appear as if it has been deserted for months."

"But why didn't you tell us this?" Scott asked his brother.

"I didn't remember at first, and besides, you already thought I was mad! If I'd said that we didn't need to sell the island you'd only think that I was trying to back out!"

"He's right," Virgil agreed. "We would have."

"So now what do we do?" John asked.

Scott straightened. "We'll head to Kansas. If you want to get going, Penny, we'll follow you after we've got some things together. Anything you think we should take…"

She held up a hand. "No, Scott. You are going to stay here."

"But, Penny…"

"If Mr Brett and whoever else is behind this gets any idea that we are, ah, onto them, they could… go to ground. We'll have a much better chance of finding Jeff if you all remain here and continue to pretend to be the grieving family."

"But I could come with you," Scott protested. "We could use the excuse that I'm trying to find Alan some psychiatric help!"

"Thanks," Alan muttered. Tin-Tin gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

Lady Penelope vetoed the suggestion. "No. This is NOT a job for International Rescue. This is a situation that requires more finesse than you traditionally provide. Parker and I will call on you for help if we need it."

For a moment she thought the 'evil twin' was going to rear his head again. Then Scott nodded, "okay, you win." He slumped back against the desk. "But you've got to promise to keep us informed of all developments. And the instant you need our help you've got to call us!"

"I promise, Scott," Lady Penelope agreed.

"Parker?"

"Yes, Mister Scott. H-I promise."

Scott made a gesture of surrender. "What are you going to do?"

"There are a few places that I want to investigate. Pen said that Jeff gave blood the day before the aeroplane crash…"

"So?" Alan frowned. "He always did. He said that if he couldn't go out on rescues like us, he might be able to save at least one person. What's that got to do with anything?"

"That's what I hope to find out. I also want to call on Brains and see if he has any thoughts on who was flying the aeroplane," Lady Penelope admitted. "What alias is he going under?"

"The usual, Hiram K. Hackenbacker," Scott told her. "But that's not going to give you a steer onto where Father is."

"I shall play that by ear. Perhaps I shall have to set a trap for our mouse. There's also a 'Mr Spencer' that your father saw the morning of the accident. Does that name mean anything to any of you?" She received a negative response from most of the family.

"You think he is someone of interest?" Scott asked.

"Pen didn't know who he was," Lady Penelope explained. "Jeff made that appointment himself and Pen said that he seemed rather, in her words, 'solemn' after the meeting. He subsequently had meetings with Mr Walker of 'Walker and Crawford' and then Mr Brett."

"Walker and Crawford? Tracy Industries' solicitors? Why?" Scott asked.

"I don't know. They have been trying to get in contact with you. Perhaps they have information that is important."

"What did that letter say, Scott?" Alan asked.

Scott frowned. "What letter?"

Alan shook his head in exasperation. "The one from Walker and Crawford… The one I gave you… Remember? It was in the mailbag! You put it on the desk and said you'd read it later. You didn't, did you?"

Scott circled the desk and scanned it before he starting picking up bits of paper and looking underneath. "Where is it?"

"You put it there," Alan pointed at the side of the desk.

"Mrs Tracy shifted the things that were on the desk to clean it," Tin-Tin remembered.

"Where did you put them, Grandma?" Scott asked.

"On the coffee table."

The coffee table being empty, Gordon got on his hands and knees and looked underneath the nearby couch. "There's nothing here. Where'd you put everything when you put it back on the desk, Grandma?"

"Where I got it from, of course."

Scott was still shifting papers. "There's nothing here."

"Maybe Mister Brains picked it up when he gathered his papers together?" Kyrano suggested. "At the time that Mrs Tracy was cleaning, he was working at the desk. It was when you were in Kansas."

"Don't worry about it, I'll give Mr Walker a call." Scott looked at his watch. "Bother! No one will be at the office now!" He sat in his father's chair. "I wonder what the heck Mr Walker wanted."

"May I suggest that you telephone the office as soon as it opens," Lady Penelope said. "They may have some information of importance to impart. I would also suggest that you contact Pen Fordbury. She has been trying to get hold of you."

Scott looked guilty. "I haven't reconnected the phone lines yet."

"Dad said he'd changed his will," Alan remembered. "What if he took it away from Brett and gave it to Walker and Crawford?"

"They're business solicitors, not personal ones," Scott rebuked.

"So? They're still capable of drafting a will, especially for one of their biggest clients. Wouldn't you want to do all you could to get the business of one of the richest men on the planet?"

Scott put his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands. "I don't know what to think anymore. None of this seems plausible, but it must be true!"

Lady Penelope consulted her own watch. "We must leave. But, before we go... Do you have the bag, Parker?"

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker pulled the bag that he'd been wrestling with earlier out from under a table. He unzipped it and held it out to his mistress who withdrew some books.

"Pen asked me to give you these," Lady Penelope explained. "She tells me that they are signed by every employee of Tracy Industries in the United States." She handed one to each member of the family. They stared at the books dumbly.

"Every employee?" John asked.

"I believe so."

"But there's so many messages," Gordon sounded awestruck.

"And not just a couple of words from each person either," John flicked through the pages.

Scott was reading the first page of his book. "Here's one from Sam Watson."

"Pen told me that the books were his idea," Lady Penelope explained.

Grandma sniffed. "Who would have thought he'd touched so many lives."

"Looks like we're going to need a bigger hall, Virgil," Gordon said.

There was the clanging of strings and the scrape of furniture as Virgil stood; pushing away from the piano.

"Virgil!" Scott exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

Virgil turned back so he was facing his brother. His eyes were bright. "If Father's still alive, then International Rescue isn't finished! I'm going to defuse Thunderbird Two…! Thank you, Penny!" To everyone's surprise, he planted a big kiss on her lips before running out of the room.

"Mister Virgil!" Parker exclaimed, horrified.

"Wait, Virgil! I'll give you a hand," John called out. "Penny," much to Parker's horror, and Lady Penelope's surprise and secret pleasure, he mimicked his brother's gesture of thanks, "you're wonderful!"

"Mister John!" Parker reprimanded. But John had already followed Virgil.

"What's the matter, Parker?" Gordon grinned. "Miffed that she's getting all the attention?" He grabbed the cockney butler's face and planted a big kiss on the astonished man's lips. "Thanks!" he winked at Lady Penelope before he sprinted from the room.

Stunned, Parker sank onto a seat. "M-m-m'Lady!"

Suppressing a smile, Lady Penelope gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "It's all right, Parker. Just sit there a moment."

"Penny." Alan stood and took her hands. "Thank you."

"No. Thank YOU, Alan. If it hadn't been for your persistence none of us would believe that we would be seeing Jeff again."

"I'd better go help them." Alan gave a wry grin and indicated the direction his brothers had just left. "The mood they're in, they're likely to blow themselves up as they remove the explosives." He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," he repeated.

"I'll help you, Alan," Tin-Tin offered. "Thank you, Lady Penelope. Thank you, Parker." She gave the still dazed butler a kiss on the cheek.

It seemed to revive him somewhat. "Oh… Ah… H-It's nothin', Miss Tin-Tin."

Taking each other's hands, Alan and Tin-Tin left the lounge.

Kyrano bowed low. "I also owe you both a debt of thanks, Lady Penelope; Mister Parker. Would you care for a cup of tea before you leave?" He indicated the now cold teapot.

"No, thank you, Kyrano," Lady Penelope replied. "We had better be going."

Kyrano cleared away the unused crockery.

"Penelope," Mrs Tracy stood. "If you can bring that son of mine back to us, this family will owe you both a huge debt."

"We will do our best," Lady Penelope replied. She looked over at Jeff Tracy's desk.

Scott Tracy still sat there, staring at the rings in his hand. As they watched he slipped them into the velvet bag before placing it with reverence at the base of his parents' wedding photo. His fingers traced his mother's face briefly before he stood. It was only then that he became aware that he was being watched. His face reddened. "Oh… ah… um. I'd better go help. Don't want them thinking I'm not pulling my weight." He straightened; pulling his shoulders back and lifting his chin. "Don't forget, Penny, call us if you have any news…" He waggled his finger at her. "And don't forget if you want help, we can be there in minutes in Thunderbird One."

"I won't forget, Scott." Lady Penelope watched as he almost marched from the room. "He's like his father."

"Yes, he is," Grandma agreed. "They both can be stubborn as mules… I won't keep you any longer, Penelope. Everyone's going to be hungry when they've finished their work and I'd better have some fresh baking ready. Please excuse me."

"Of course." Lady Penelope watched the elderly lady leave until both she and Parker were the only ones left in the lounge.

"You've bucked them h-up," Parker commented.

"Yes. I wonder for how long," Lady Penelope mused.

"You thinkin' that they might be h-a trifle h-optimistic?"

"You know the criminal underworld better than I do, Parker. I can't help fearing that the reason why we didn't find Jeff in that warehouse is not simply because he has been shifted to another location."

"Me too, m'Lady."

_To be continued…_


	13. Revelations

**13 Thirteen: Revelations**

After the excitement of the realisation that Jeff Tracy was still alive, things had settled down into a quiet depression on Tracy Island. For a family who thrived on direct action, their enforced impotence was taxing. Even Alan, no longer experiencing the stresses of being a modern, male Cassandra, was subdued by the knowledge that he could do nothing to help his father. The family sat around the table, eating in a moody silence, barely noticing that Grandma's cooking skills had improved since she'd heard the good news.

Virgil, as he had many times over the last few days, reached out for a roll. He arrested his action; his hand hovering over the still warm bread. He made his decision, picked up the roll and placed it on Scott's plate, then stood. "I'm going for a run. Call me if Penny calls."

"'Kay," Scott grunted, ignoring the offering.

John, who'd been staring into thin air as he played with his knife, dropped the implement causing his family to jump at the unexpected sound. "I've got it!"

"Well, let's hope it's not catching." Gordon mopped the drink he'd spilt down the front of his shirt. "Got what?"

"I know who Mr Spencer is… Well, who he could be. That private investigator that Dad hired to…" he glanced at his grandmother who was listening with interest. "The detective! I knew the name rang a bell when Penny mentioned it."

Virgil lent on the back of his chair. "Why would Father want to talk to a detective when he's got Penny on the payroll?"

"Maybe he wanted someone with anonymity?" Alan suggested. "Someone that Brett wouldn't know."

"And maybe he found something out about Brett and that's why Father met with him that morning!" Scott exclaimed. "Does this P.I. know you, John?"

"He should do. He interviewed me often enough."

"Why?" Tin-Tin asked.

Scott saved his brother from having to give an answer. "Go call him, John. No, call Penny first and tell her; we don't want to step on her toes. Tell her that you'll call him and arrange it so that this Spencer guy will disclose everything that he told Father."

"I'm already on it, Scott." John hurried out of the dining room.

---F-A-B---

"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Mr Webber," Lady Penelope said. "I do so appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, Lady Penelope," the airfield's superintendent said. "I hope I'm able to help the Tracys. Jeff's death is a big loss to us all."

Lady Penelope opened her mouth to begin her questioning when her handbag discreetly beeped at her. "Do excuse me," she said reaching into it. "Cellular phones do have the unnerving habit of interrupting you at the most inopportune times." Making a show of switching off her mobile phone she pressed a button on her powder compact…

---F-A-B---

John found himself 'face-to-face' with Parker. "Is Penny busy?"

"She's h-in a meetin' with Bill Webber," Parker explained.

"Well, when she's finished, tell her that I think I know who the mysterious Mr Spencer is," John explained. "He's a private investigator that Dad dealt with a few years ago. We were thinking that maybe Dad was using him to find out about Brett."

"H-And 'e discovered somethin'? That h-is h-a possibility, Mister John. Do you 'ave this Mr Spencer's contact details?"

"They must be here somewhere. I was thinking that, if Penny wants me to, I could give him a call. He knows me and I could smooth the way for her to talk to him. Maybe then he'll open up about what he was doing for Dad. You know, so there're no issues with privacy."

"Very good, Sir. I will tell 'Er Ladyship when she returns."

"What's the time there, Parker?" John asked.

Parker looked at his watch. "'Alf seven."

John sighed. "So we've got an hour and a half before the solicitor and accountants open."

"'Fraid so, Mister John. You 'aven't found that letter then?"

"We've looked everywhere. Brains must have it. I hope Penny's having more luck than we are."

---F-A-B---

"I suppose I was the last person to see him alive; to talk to him face-to-face," Bill Webber was saying. "It still seems hard to believe."

"It has been a shock for the family," Lady Penelope admitted. "That is why I'm doing a bit of," she batted her eyelashes, "what you might call 'sleuthing'." She repeated the line that she'd told Pen Fordbury the day before. "I'm hoping that by finding out what Jeff was doing in his final hours, it might bring some closure to them all."

"Taking it hard are they?"

"It was so unexpected. He was such an experienced pilot."

"I know. That's why I think it must have been a fault with that new plane. Do you know he was going to take me for a flight in it? He changed his mind at the last minute; said it had been a bad day and he didn't feel like it. I suppose I should count myself lucky that I wasn't on board."

Lady Penelope gave him a smile of agreement. "When did you last see him?"

"I walked him as far as the edge of the runway. I like to see off our extra special clients personally, and believe me, Jeff Tracy was more special than most. I considered him to be a friend… Is there going to be a funeral or some kind of memorial service? I'd like to attend if there is."

"I'll be sure to ask the family to let you know the arrangements," Lady Penelope noted. "You saw him board the jet?"

"He did the routine checks first. Then I had a message that one of our… shall we say 'less special' clients was insisting that he had to see me then and there. So I waved goodbye to Jeff and returned to my office."

"And did he wave back?"

Bill Webber frowned. "Um… No… I don't think he did. He was on the far side of the plane."

"Did you see him in the aeroplane?"

"No. I hurried back to the office. My client was complaining about one of the engineers. He was demanding that I sack him. I don't like kowtowing to awkward clients like Mr Mi…" he caught himself, "but in this case I felt he had a point. The engineer in question had been slack with various things over the time since we hired him and had already been given a number of warnings. This was the last straw."

"He wasn't the man who worked on Jeff's jet was he?"

Bill Webber gave a sad nod. "He was. But the authorities have taken his log book and have found nothing untoward in it, and the engineer in question has been extensively interviewed."

"Do you think I might talk to him myself?" Lady Penelope asked.

"I'm sorry, Lady Penelope, but I can't give you his contact details. Firstly: because it would be a breach of privacy. And secondly; I don't know what they are. Apparently the man moved house a few days afterwards and I don't have his new address." He gave a grim smile. "At least that solved two problems. I got rid of a sub-standard engineer and an awkward client in one fell swoop. The client said that if that was the standard of service that we gave, then he didn't want to use our airfield."

"They say that every cloud has a silver lining…" Lady Penelope reverted back to her original line of questioning. "You said that Jeff had had a bad day; did he elaborate on that?"

Bill Webber thought for a moment. "I think he said something about terminating a long standing venture; something personal. He didn't seem to be looking forward to telling the family."

"And he didn't say what he was terminating?"

"No."

* * *

"Did you discover h-anythin', m'Lady?" Parker asked as he assisted her into FAB1. 

"That the last person to see Jeff Tracy didn't actually see him enter the plane. Mr Webber was called away to see another client… A man whose name started with Mi."

"Not 'Orace Miles?"

"It would be a wonderful coincidence, wouldn't it? Our mystery man was complaining about the engineer who worked on Jeff's plane. The man was summarily dismissed from his employment."

"H-And then Mr Tracy crashes 'is plane. That's convenient," Parker mused.

"Isn't it?" Lady Penelope agreed. "Mr Webber also told me that Jeff had 'terminated a long-standing personal venture'."

"The 'olding h-of h-a will?" Parker guessed.

"My supposition too, Parker. Let us continue on with our search."

"You 'ad a call from Mister John while you were in there."

"Was that the phone interruption? What did John want?"

"'E thinks that Spencer geezer might be a private investigator that Mr Tracy 'ired."

"Instead of calling on my services?"

"H-Apparently 'e'd used 'im before. We was wonderin' h-if 'e was chasing Brett."

"I'm wondering that too. I must call on Mr Spencer."

"Mister John offered to get in touch with 'im h-and h-ask 'im to co-operate."

"That is very good of John. I must call him and accept his offer."

* * *

"So you see, Mr Spencer, Lady Penelope's, ah," John hesitated a moment. "She's trying to find out what Dad did in his last hours… for us. We daren't leave the island. We're being hounded by the press." 

The detective nodded. "You understand that it's highly irregular for me to discuss a case with anyone other than my client."

"I know. And I appreciate your position, Sir. But Penny, that's Lady Penelope, rather fancies herself as a detective. Generally we humour her, but in this case we can't understand why Dad crashed his plane and we're hoping that she might be able to supply some answers. And you were one of the last people Dad saw that day."

Spencer nodded again. "I will admit to having one or two concerns about your father's accident myself. I would, however, like to express my apprehensions about 'amateurs' meddling with official business. I'm sure the Air Accident Inspectors will discover the true cause of your father's crash. They won't need her help."

"It's been nearly a week and we haven't heard anything," John protested. "Penny wants to feel like she's doing something to honour Dad's name and we're desperate to find out what went wrong. Surely your telling her everything you told Dad at your last meeting won't hurt the official investigation?"

Spencer pursed his lips. "Wouldn't you rather I told you?"

The question threw John. "Well… Yes, I would like to know… But I can't do anything with the information from here on the island. Perhaps you could email it through to me when you've finished talking to Lady Penelope?"

Spencer laughed. "This woman… Lady Penelope? She wouldn't be blonde would she, John?"

Confused, John frowned. "She is actually."

Spencer gave a knowing smile. "All right. Since it's you and I admired your father, I will do as you ask. Just remember that if you ever need a real detective, 'Howard and Spencer' is at your service."

"Thank you, Mr Spencer. I appreciate your assistance."

"Have your Lady Penelope arrange an appointment with my secretary. I will give her full co-operation."

"Thank you, Sir. Good day." John hung up the phone. "Whew! That took a bit of work!"

"Well done, John," Scott congratulated.

"You realise that he thinks you've got a weakness for blondes?" Gordon grinned. "That's why he's humouring you."

"What!" John exclaimed. "Me and Penny! I'm not that brave."

"Well, if you can hold your nerve for long enough, give her a call and tell her it's all laid on," Scott suggested.

"Okay." John began initiating the call. "He doesn't know what he's talking about anyway. Blondes have more fun. Right, Alan?"

Alan grimaced. "I haven't enjoyed the last few days."

"How do you know this detective, John?" Grandma asked.

"I'd better call Penny." John turned back to the intercom.

* * *

"Such a pleasant man," Lady Penelope commented as she settled back in the cushions of her seat in the Rolls Royce. 

"What did this Mr Spencer tell you, m'Lady?"

"That Jeff had received a missive from an investment company. Apparently it was one that he'd invested with while still in the Air Force, through Mr Brett. There'd been some 'irregularities' with the payments. Jeff had made a few enquires himself and discovered that Mr Brett had been interviewed by the police over possible embezzling charges. The charges had been subsequently dropped when it was discovered that there had been an accountancy error. Jeff hired Mr Spencer to find out the truth."

"H-And the truth was that the charges were correct?"

"Mr Spencer had some evidence to suggest that this was the case. He believed that Mr Brett borrowed heavily to 'refund' the accounts he'd stolen from. The evidence points to the lender having been a 'Mr Earl'."

"'Oo 'as h-an h-employee called 'Orace Miles?"

"I would assume so. What if Mr Brett's reparation was to supply a valuable piece of land?"

"Tracy Island?"

"Exactly. Get me the boys would you?"

Scott was grim when they made contact. "Hi, Penny. We've received Spencer's report. It seems to confirm your and Alan's theory."

"I'm sorry, Scott."

"I've managed to make contact with Mr Walker. He's been trying to get hold of us to arrange the reading of Jeff Tracy's last will… Dated the day of the crash."

"And, going by your father's diary, the will would have been made before he saw Angus Brett…"

"Who also has a will dated the same day. That one's got to be a forgery. Who in their right mind would make a will at one company and then go to another and make a second will?"

"The courts would probably argue that in that case Jeff wasn't in 'sound mind' and the latest of all previous wills was the correct one."

"And that will was held by Brett. I'm pretty sure that it left something to everyone here, not just me and my brothers. And…" Scott continued on, "the accountant seemed to think that whoever inherited Father's estate would be quite comfortably well off."

"No debts?"

"No debts."

"I'm sorry, Scott. It does appear that you and your family have been, well…"

"Taken for a ride? Made to be utter chumps? Use any metaphor you like, Penny, we haven't come out of this smelling of roses."

"I am sorry," Lady Penelope repeated.

"The only silver lining is that thanks to Alan we never actually finalised anything and, with any luck, we're starting to gain the upper hand. What are your plans?"

"I have a couple of places that I wish to visit and then I think I'll call on Brains…"

* * *

"Mr Campbell," the intercom summonsed the Air Accident Inspector. 

"Go ahead," he responded.

"I have a message from…" there was a pause as a note was read, "Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, for Mr Hackenbacker. She says she was hoping to take him out for…" another pause, "tea. She would like him to give her a call back at his earliest convenience."

"Thanks. I'll let him know." David Campbell strode over to Brains' office. "You've got a friend who wants you to give her a call, Hiram."

Brains blinked at him through his thick glasses. "A-A friend? Her?"

"By the name of Lady Penelope Cry… something."

"Lady Penelope? Wh-Why does she want me to call her?"

"She wants to take you out for tea."

"Oh." Brains stood. "Would you mind if I, er, went?"

"Of course not. You're not on our payroll and besides, it will do you good to get out of this office for a bit…"

* * *

"You're doing well, Virgil. Twenty more laps and you can get out." 

Virgil stopped swimming and, treading water, looked up at his younger brother. "You're kidding me! I've already done fifty."

"So?" Gordon grinned. "You want to get back into shape, don't you?"

"I don't want to be so exhausted that I can't even climb out of the pool."

"Come on, I know you can do it," Gordon cajoled.

"You're enjoying this," Virgil accused.

Gordon's grin broadened.

"Fellas!" There was a shout from the patio.

Virgil swam over to the side of the pool. "What, Scott?" he shouted back.

"Do you want to hear the latest from Lady Penelope?"

"Is she on the phone?" Gordon asked.

"Nope. I've just finished talking to her."

"We'll be up as soon as Virgil's done another twenty laps." Gordon shouted, before receiving a face full of water from his pool-bound brother. "No need to thank me, Virg." He wiped water from his eyes. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

Virgil had climbed out of the pool. He picked up his towel. "I'm going to hear the latest. If you want another twenty laps you swim them!"

"I'm only trying to help," Gordon protested as he trotted after his brother.

"And I appreciate it, Gordon. But at the moment, I'm more interested in bringing Father home…"

* * *

"Brains!" Lady Penelope greeted him warmly. "How are you my dear boy?" 

"Q-Quite well, Lady Penelope. And you?"

"Me? I have a puzzle that you might be interested in." Lady Penelope indicated the Rolls Royce. "Shall we go for a drive and I will explain it to you."

Brains greeted Parker and accepted the invitation to recline on the car's comfortable seats. "Wh-What's this puzzle?"

"If Jeff wasn't on board the aeroplane when it took off, and no one else was, is it possible that it could have been flown by some other method?" Lady Penelope asked.

Brains' mouth dropped open. "I b-beg your pardon?"

"From what you have found out during the accident investigation is it possible that Jeff Tracy wasn't on the jet?"

"L-Lady Penelope?" Brains was a picture of confusion.

"Did Scott tell you about Alan's claims after he was hit on the head in the warehouse?"

"Th-That he saw Mr T-Tracy there? Yes?"

"Has Scott given you an update on the situation?"

"I haven't been in contact with the Tracys m-much," Brains admitted. "I-I have been too b-b-busy." He paused, a worried frown on his face. "What's wrong? Has A-Alan condition worsened?"

"No. I suppose you might say that it has improved." Lady Penelope produced a cup of freshly brewed coffee from one of FAB1's hidden compartments. She hesitated before handing the cup to Brains. "I believe that Alan was speaking the truth."

Brains gave an involuntary jerk at the news and Lady Penelope was relieved that she'd prevented coffee from splashing across the Rolls Royce's interior. Brains stared at the young aristocrat. "What?!" he exclaimed.

Lady Penelope handed him the cup. "Parker and I have discovered evidence at the warehouse that Jeff was being held there after the aeroplane crash. We've also discovered that what Mr Brett has told the family is in all probability not correct."

"Y-You mean he was wrong about the debts?"

"I mean he was lying about them. We now believe that Mr Brett is at least one of the architects behind the crash."

"Y-You mean that the crash wasn't Mr Tracy's fault?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Y-You mean that the crash wasn't the jet's fault?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Y-You mean that the crash wasn't MY fault?"

"No, Brains. We believe that someone has cruelly and callously arranged for the aeroplane to crash so that everyone would assume that Jeff Tracy had died, thereby leaving the Tracy family open to exploitation."

"E-Exploitation?" Clearly Brains was struggling with the whole concept of what he was being told. His untouched drink was shaking in his hands.

Lady Penelope removed the cup and placed it into a convenient holder so its contents wouldn't be spilt. "We believe that Mr Brett, and whoever else is behind this, has created this scenario for the express purpose of obtaining Tracy Island."

"B-B-But i-it's n-not p-possible," Brains stammered. "David Campbell d-discovered M-Mr Tracy's D-D-D…"

"DNA? I believe I may have found the solution to that issue. Parker and I have been following Jeff's footsteps this morning and have discovered some things of interest. Jeff gave blood the day before the crash. The donation centre had a burglary that evening. No money or valuables were taken, but several bags of blood were. The police have put it down to some weird cult or a student stunt."

"And Mr Tracy's donation?"

"Was one of the bags taken."

"Ah…" Brains' brow creased in thought. "If your th-theory is correct that could explain one little mystery."

"Go on," Lady Penelope prompted.

"Evidence of some plastic, of the sort used to store m-medical products, was found in the vicinity of the c-cockpit. I had no explanation for this… until now."

"Also," Lady Penelope continued on, "the day before the fatal flight, Jeff had his hair cut. The stylist, a most obliging young man, told me that after Jeff left the salon, the stylist turned his back a moment, and when he returned to clean up a young urchin was scooping up the trimmings."

Brains' mouth dropped. "R-Ridiculous! You c-can't get DNA from hair shafts, only the root."

"And I doubt that the stylist would have been pulling Jeff's hair out by the roots. How much DNA was found in the wreckage?"

"V-Very little. Only enough to prove that n-no one other than Mr Tracy could have been on the 'p-plane. In fact the only significant p-piece of…" Brains' voice petered away as if he were unwilling to impart a piece of information.

"Yes, Brains?" Lady Penelope prompted.

"Th-They found a tissue sample," he said with reluctance, "which they proved conclusively came from Mr T-Tracy. B-But it wasn't found near the cockpit."

"It wasn't?"

"N-No. It was found on the f-frame of the door. On the inside edge, a-along with a bit of fabric. The b-bulkhead of the jet largely p-protected the sample from the force of the explosion."

"And it was definitely Jeff's?"

Brains nodded. "The odds were a trillion to one that it wasn't." Then his face lit up. "Th-They found something else in the cockpit that n-no one could explain. I thought it looked like s-s-some kind of remote control device, but we dismissed its importance. We assumed that it was something that M-Mr Tracy had brought on board. W-We didn't have all the facts…"

"So it could have controlled the jet remotely?" Lady Penelope asked.

"P-P-Possibly." Brains looked at his friend in consternation. "I-If he's not dead then wh-where is Mr Tracy, Lady Penelope?"

"That, my dear boy, is the big question. And one I hope to discover the answer to tonight..."

* * *

The darkness was all encompassing. Down this narrow backwater of a road even the streetlights appeared disinterested in throwing light on the scene. 

Parker cracked his knuckles in satisfaction. "Pitch black. Just the way H-I like h-it, m'Lady. Nobody can see nothin'."

"Including us, unless we wear these delightful inventions of Brains." Lady Penelope handed the chauffeur a set of night-vision goggles.

He put them on. "Strike me! These never fail to h-amaze me. Everythin's so much clearer."

"Marvellous aren't they." Lady Penelope exited FAB1 and looked at the solicitor's office. Then she scanned it with a small device. "A basic security system. It should be easy enough to breach. Would you care to do the honours, Parker?"

"Luv to."

In a matter of minutes they were inside Angus Brett's office. Lady Penelope examined the windows. "Such a pity, these curtains are much too thin to conceal any lights. We shall have to continue wearing the goggles."

"Very good, Madam. What do you want me to do?"

Lady Penelope pushed a door open. "This appears to be Mr Brett's office. You search the reception and I'll investigate in here."

"H-Anythin' h-in particular H-I should be lookin' for?"

"Something that links Mr Brett with Mr Earl or Horace Miles. Anything to do with Jeff or any of the Tracys." She indicated a filing cabinet. "When you look in there I want you to particularly concentrate on 'E', 'M', 'T' or 'I'."

"H-I?"

"For International Rescue."

"Oh." Parker looked at the state of the office. "'Is secretary 'as probably filed everythin' under 'T' anyway."

"'T', Parker?"

"For 'The'. As in The Boss, The cases, The Tracys'."

"I hope for your sake that she is more efficient than that." Lady Penelope slipped through to Brett's office. It was a spartan room with no warmth or hospitality. Brett's diploma's hung on the wall at a slovenly angle. The only hint of anything welcoming was a sorry looking 'mother-in-law's tongue' which drooped in a cracked grey planter.

Lady Penelope began her systematic search. She started with a smaller filing cabinet; one that she easily unlocked with an electronic device. The bottom drawer contained a bottle of whiskey and a glass. She pushed it shut and pulled open the top one. Several files presented themselves, and she flicked through them, but found nothing of interest. The desk's drawers were similarly filled with uninteresting pens, pencils and spools of tape of the type used by solicitors to tie up legal documents. The personal digital assistant she found was broken, and her digital reader designed to combat such problems revealed that the PDA's memory had been irretrievably corrupted.

The desk was covered with a mish-mash of papers, all of which related to other, presumably genuine clients.

A cupboard to one side of the room caught her eye. Inside Lady Penelope discovered a safe. "Very sophisticated," she mused. "More protection than I would have thought a solicitor of Mr Brett's standing would require." Deciding against interrupting Parker in his work and using the electronic device to dial up the safe's combination, she accessed the safe's interior.

Inside she found more files. Removing them and placing them on the floor for easier access, she discovered on the floor of the safe a black box. Inside the box was a machine. "Parker!" she called.

He appeared at the door. "Yes, m'Lady?"

"Have you seen one of these before?" Lady Penelope held out the box.

"Yup. H-It's h-a copyin' machine," he explained. "Used by less than 'onest folks for forgeries. You put h-a bit of paper on 'ere," he removed a flat sheet of polymer plastic from the box and placed a piece of paper flat on it. "See, you can't see the sheet. You get your 'mug' to sign h-a legitimate document h-and the plastic remembers the signature; pressure h-and h-everything about it. Just put the sheet inside the copier h-and Bob's yer uncle. Once you 'ave the signature h-in the copier's memory you can sign just about h-anything with your mug's signature."

"Including a new will?" Lady Penelope mused pointing the digital reader at the copier. Unlike the earlier PDA this time she achieved a result. She turned the instrument so that Parker could see the screen.

"Jefferson Tracy," he read. "So that last will was h-a fake!"

"Yes, Parker. Have you found anything of interest?"

"'Is secretary h-is partial to some h-of the more common celebrities, judgin' by the magazines she's got filed, but h-apart from that, no." Parker admitted. "Brett 'asn't got many clients."

"I'm not surprised," Lady Penelope commented. "Not if there were rumours of embezzlement. You may as well stay here and help me go through these files," she indicated the ones she had removed from the safe. "Take pictures. We may wish to peruse them later at our leisure."

"'Tracy'," Parker read the spine of one thick file. "Do you want to take this one?"

"I do indeed. Thank you, Parker."

"H-I think I'll find h-out somethin' about 'Mr Earl'," Parker said.

They spent the next few minutes in silence apart from the rustle of papers.

"I feel like a 'Peeping Thomasina'," Lady Penelope admitted. "This is a catalogue of Jeff's life. Newspaper clippings, his early wills," she picked up an old document, "Lucille Tracy's will. Notes in Mr Brett's handwriting on the boys…" She shook her head. "He's been building up a hatred towards the family all these years. Look at this: 'The youngest brat won a car race today. Everyone's fawning over him; as much as when Gordon won that Olympic medal. It's sickening.'"

"'Ere's h-a file h-on 'is h-own son. Vince Brett. Sounds like 'e was a real 'andful." Parker flicked through the pages. "Drugs… Car theft… Rape…"

"So our Mr Brett was jealous of Jeff's 'perfect' family."

"Yeah." Parker reached the last page of the document. "Says 'ere Vince was killed h-in h-a car crash runnin' from the cops. Brett's made h-a note. 'Good riddance'."

"So much for fatherly love and sorrow," Lady Penelope commented. "Such a contrast to the grief the Tracys have been experiencing."

"Makes me blood boil," Parker stated. "They never did h-anything to hurt 'im h-and look what 'e's putting them through."

"Oh, my!" Lady Penelope exclaimed, staring into the Tracys' folder. "That's disgusting!"

"What?" Parker asked, taken aback by the agitation in his mistress's voice.

Lady Penelope handed him the folder. Topmost was a yellowed newspaper clipping. 'Funeral of Astronaut's Wife' the headline glared. Parker read the sub-heading: Lucille Tracy, wife of astronaut Jefferson Tracy, was laid to rest today. The rest of the article detailed the circumstances surrounding her death, Jeff's career to that point, and stated that the deceased woman was survived by her husband and children. A photo of a bereft Jeff Tracy and five bewildered sons, on which Brett had drawn a smiley face and scrawled the words 'So there is a God', accompanied the article.

Parker slammed the folder shut. "'E's sick!"

"He is indeed, Parker."

Parker opened the folder at the last page. "'Ello, 'ere's the h-original." He handed the folder back to Lady Penelope.

Lady Penelope examined the topmost document in the folder. At the bottom was the familiar Jeff Tracy scrawl. "This is dated the day of the crash."

"H-I'm bettin' that Mr Tracy wasn't thinking that 'e was 'elping forge 'is own signature." Parker picked up another folder. "Cor blimey… We don't need this."

"Parker?!"

Parker indicated the folder. "This one's labelled H-International Rescue. He's got clippings h-about the rescue where Mister Alan saw Mr Tracy. 'E's got notes too." Parker began reading. "'Tracy thought 'e was so clever, but 'is own son 'as given 'im away. H-I never dreamt that the Tracy family was H-International Rescue. My own fault H-I suppose, H-I should 'ave realised that that goody two-shoes Tracy would want to do something noble for the world."

"Oh, dear. Well, at the moment that is the least of our problems." Lady Penelope looked at her watch. "It is getting late. Let us photograph everything here and we shall have to read it later."

Once the contents of the safe had been catalogued and replaced, Lady Penelope turned a critical eye to the room. "Time for us to lay that trap for our mouse." She shivered. "I knew I never liked that man."

Parker opened a case. "Mister Brains 'as h-a sense h-of 'umour. Choose your bugs, m'Lady."

Lady Penelope examined the case's contents. At a casual glance anyone would have assumed that it was the property of an entomologist. Flies, beetles, spiders and smaller insects were laid out in neat rows. "I think," she mused, "that a fly and this spider will be suitable for our purposes. We shall want to monitor videophone calls as well. Perhaps you would be good enough to, ah, bug the videophone?"

"H-It would be more than h-a pleasure, m'Lady."

While Parker unscrewed the facing of the videophone, Lady Penelope climbed onto a chair and positioned the spider in the corner of the room. A quick check of a portable video receiver showed that the spider was transmitting its video signal. The fly was placed at the base of the sole pot plant.

"'Ello, 'ello, what do we 'ave 'ere?" Parker muttered.

"Have you found something?"

"Seems we're not the h-only ones h-interested h-in what calls Brett makes."

Lady Penelope moved closer. "The videophone is bugged?"

"Yep. Doesn't look government h-issue to me. What do you think, m'Lady?"

Lady Penelope examined the bug caught up inside the wiring of the videophone. "I'm inclined to agree with you, Parker. It seems that Mr Brett's, ah, co-conspirators are keeping an eye on him as well."

"Well, we can't let them 'ave h-all the fun." Parker placed an ant in the videophone's interior and replaced the faceplate. "H-All done, m'Lady."

"Good. Now all we have to do is ensure that once the trap is sprung Mr Brett leads us to Jeff. If you were a nefarious solicitor who had received an unexpected phone call causing you to flee, what would you take with you?"

Parker looked around the office, his eyes falling on Brett's bag. "H-Is briefcase?"

"An excellent supposition, Parker." A thin homing device, shaped like a needle, was slipped under the briefcase's lining. "I think we would be wise to 'cover all bases'. Mr Brett may leave his briefcase somewhere. I am hoping that our call will send him into a slight panic, and getting changed will not be on his agenda before he leaves." Lady Penelope placed a tiny, burred homing device on the seat of the chair. "There," she said in satisfaction. "The trap is primed. Now we shall retire to our hotel for a few hours beauty sleep before we activate it."

_To be continued…_


	14. A Trap is Sprung

**14 Fourteen: A Trap is Sprung**

Lady Penelope consulted her watch as she sat in her seat in the Rolls Royce. "Time we sprung our trap, Parker."

"'Ow h-are you going to do that, m'Lady?"

"I am not. The Tracy boys are," Lady Penelope initiated contact with Tracy Island. "But don't mention the files we found. They have enough to worry about. All they need to know at the present time is that we have planted some recording and tracking devices in… Hello, Scott!"

Scott Tracy managed a smile. "Hello, Penny. How are you?"

"Getting better by the minute, my dear boy. I have a feeling that today is going to be a fruitful day; but I need you to do something for me."

Scott was suddenly eager. "Name it!"

"I want you to ring Angus Brett."

Scott stared at her. "You want me to what?"

"We are going to spread a fabrication of our own. You are to tell him that the Air Accident Inspector has discovered something in your father's aeroplane that makes him suspect that Jeff was murdered. I also want you to say that there was a hint that the authorities know who is behind the whole plot… and why."

"And if he asks for more details, what do I say?"

"That you don't have further information."

Scott sat back in his father's chair. "I don't know that I can do it, Penny, not convincingly anyway. The last thing I want to do to that guy is be civil with him. When I think of what he's done to Father and the rest of us!"

"You're not good enough an actor anyway," Gordon said from somewhere beyond the camera's range.

Scott scowled at the unseen voice. "Thanks."

"He's right, Scott," Alan's voice confirmed.

Scott threw his hands up. "Everyone's a critic."

Lady Penelope sighed. "Very well. Perhaps one of your brothers could make the call?"

"John," Virgil immediately proposed. "You're used to communicating with people."

"Me?" John gulped.

"That line you spun yesterday had Mr Spencer fooled," Alan added. "You're the best one do it, John."

"Who's to say I'm not like Scott and ready to knock Brett's teeth down his throat next time I see him?" John asked.

"You can't do that over the phone," Gordon pointed out. "You do it, John."

"It can't be me," John protested. "I'm the one who's not saying a lot, remember? Virgil would be better."

"Brett doesn't know that," Virgil reminded him. "You've always been the quietest of all of us. He won't have realised that you'd completely shut down. He wasn't here for long enough."

"He was here for lunch before he read the fake will," John reminded his brother.

"None of us had much to say," Alan remembered. "We were still in shock. Do it, John. Do it for Dad."

"Here, John." Scott stood and held out the chair. "Sit down."

Clearly reluctant, John did as he was told. "So all I have to do is say that the A.A.I. thinks it was murder and they think they know whodunit and why, but they haven't told us any more than that?"

"That is correct," Lady Penelope confirmed. "Parker and I have placed eavesdropping equipment around his office. I am hoping that your 'news' will cause him to run straight to where Jeff is being concealed… or at least to someone who can lead us to him."

"Okay, Penny, I'll give it a go," John acquiesced. "But I don't want anyone in here watching me," he warned, pointing at his brothers. "You'll put me off."

"That's okay, we can monitor everything from Father's study," Scott conceded.

"Do you want me to ring him now?" John asked.

"No, he hasn't arrived at the office yet. If you switch over to channel BI3 you'll get the fly's point of view from the pot-plant. BI4 is the spider on the other side of the room. BI5 is the videophone. Ring him as soon as he enters the office; you'll catch him off guard."

"F-A-B, Penny," John replied. "You guys get out of here!" He jerked his thumb in the direction of the door.

"A starring role and he's already behaving like a prima donna," Gordon quipped as he traipsed after his brothers into the study; leaving John to fret alone.

Jeff's study wall was lined with concealed monitors, similar to those hidden behind the boys' portraits in the lounge. Alongside the communication link with Lady Penelope, the four Tracy brothers tuned one monitor into channel BI3 and got a low level view of the office, courtesy of the fly. Channel BI4 was diagonally opposite and looking down on the desk.

Something blocked the view of channel BI3. A real fly moved in close to examine the fake one, looking monstrous on the screen. "You're out of luck, Pal," Gordon said, as Lady Penelope activated a remote-control switch that caused the electronic bug to rub a leg over one of its camera eyes. The real fly flew off.

Five minutes later they saw the door to Brett's office open and the familiar little man stepped inside.

"Look at him!" Scott exclaimed. "Acting as if nothing's wrong when he knows full well what he's putting us through!" He slammed his fist into his palm. "If I ever get my hands on him…"

Virgil picked up a tablet computer and started sketching with sharp, angry strokes. His brothers leant forward to watch the drama unfold as the phone in Brett's office began to ring.

Alan brought channel BI5's split screen image onto another monitor. One half displayed John, his face registering no emotion; the other was ready for Angus Brett.

Brett sat in his seat as he answered the videophone and his mousey face with its overgrown moustache appeared in the blank half of the Tracys' screen. He appeared to be surprised. "Why hello, John."

"Hello, Mr Brett," John began and bit his lip as if something were preying on his mind.

"What's wrong?" Mr Brett asked. "Where's Scott?"

"He's in the hangar preparing to fly out," John lied.

"Preparing to fly out?" Brett echoed. "Why?"

"Because…" John gave a dramatic pause. "Because we've just heard from the crash inspector! It's supposed to be a secret Mr Brett, but I had to tell you. We can't sell the island!"

For a moment Brett paled. "I beg your pardon?"

"Everything's falling apart!"

"What did you say?"

"Everything's falling apart!" John repeated.

"No… I mean, what do you mean?"

"Us… The investigation…" John gave a helpless gesture that was clearly seen on all the video screens. "Everything's falling apart!" he repeated.

"Why?" Brett asked. "Tell me, John! Why can't you sell the island?!"

John took a deep breath, his face a picture of confusion and bewilderment. "The A.A.I. told us that they have evidence that Dad was murdered."

Brett appeared to be taken aback. "Murdered?"

John nodded. "And they think they know who the culprit is… And they have the motive."

"They know who..?" For a moment Brett appeared worried. "Did they say who?"

"No," John shook his head. "And we can't sell the island until the investigation has been completed."

"But… But… They can't treat you like that! They've got to let you sell the island!" Brett yelped. "An investigation could take months!"

"I know… The news has sent everyone into a spin. Scott's determined to take off for the States to find and punish the culprit himself. Virgil's trying to stop him from doing anything crazy. Alan's completely flipped his lid. He's yelling that Dad can't have been murdered because he's not dead. Gordon's trying to talk some sense into him, but he's not listening." John shook his head again in supposed sadness. "We're falling apart, Mr Brett, and I don't know what to do. I feel as if the whole universe is falling in on us… as if we're being pulled into a black hole… I don't know who to turn to…" He watched as, for the merest split second, a gloating expression crossed Brett's face, soon replaced by a look of compassion.

John felt pure hatred for this man flood his system…

His brothers had been watching the show closely. They saw the flush creep up John's cheeks.

"Uh, oh," Gordon warned. "We've got problems, Guys. There's the emergency beacons."

"Emergency beacons?" Lady Penelope queried. "Are International Rescue's services required?"

"No," Alan said. "When John's ears go red that's a danger signal. It means he's really mad…"

"As in volcano erupting, hold onto your hats, run for your lives mad," Gordon added. "When that happens its time to duck and cover; especially if you're the one who's angered him."

"Something Gordon's had plenty of experience of," Virgil noted, for a moment forgetting his drawing. "He could ruin everything now."

"John?" Lady Penelope looked surprised at the revelation. "He's always so calm and quiet. I don't think I've ever seen him really angry."

"Well, it looks like you're going to see it now," Scott informed her. "He rarely gets mad, but when it does, he stays worked up for about an hour."

Virgil nodded. "The problem is, when he gets into a temper his mouth tends to disengage from his brain. He speaks first and then thinks, about ten minutes later."

"We've got to stop him," Scott said. "If he says the wrong thing to Brett…"

"Leave it to me!" Gordon stood and pointed at his younger brother. "Alan! Don't move from there!"

"Why?" Alan asked his brother's departing back.

They heard Gordon shout "Alan!" from the hallway.

Three Tracy boys and Lady Penelope looked at each other in confusion.

John heard the shout from the hall but ignored it. He'd opened his mouth to say something when he was interrupted by another shout for his youngest brother. He looked over to the door in time to see Gordon barrel into the lounge. "John! Have you seen Alan?"

"Alan?" John frowned, for one moment forgetting his phone call.

"He's completely lost it," Gordon panted. "He's yelling that the authorities are wrong and said something about proving that Dad was still alive and that he was going back to where he'd seen him. I assumed that he'd gone back to the cliff where he fell, but he's not there! You've got to help me find him, John, before he does something stupid!"

"He's what?" John was struggling to reconcile reality with what he was being told.

Gordon pulled at his brother's arm. "Come on! We've got to find Alan!" He sounded panic stricken.

"But… But…" John stammered.

Gordon leant over the desk so he could see the videophone screen. "I'm sorry, Mr Brett. But this is an emergency. We've got to go!" He pushed the disconnect button.

"Gordon!" John pulled his arm out of his brother's grasp and stood. "What are you going on about!?"

"We didn't want you to say something you shouldn't," Gordon explained, and shrank back when he saw John's expression darken. "It was Scott's idea."

Scott, still watching the exchange on a video monitor, groaned. "Thanks, Gordon."

"You're in trouble now, Scott," Virgil told him.

"Better hide," Alan warned. "Here he comes."

"The things I'm learning about you boys," Lady Penelope commented.

"We're only human," Scott reminded her. "It's not as if we're made of fibreglass or anything…"

John stormed into the room. "Scott!"

Scott stood, holding his hands up in supposition. "Let me explain, John." He took a step backwards.

John stamped over till he was face-to-face with his older brother. "It had better be good!"

"I… uh…" For once Scott's quick brain deserted him.

John pushed him on the chest. "What's the big idea of getting Gordon to do that stupid 'Alan's gone crazy' act?!"

"We could see that you were getting a little annoyed…"

"Oh, you could, could you?" John leant close to his older brother so they were practically nose-to-nose.

"Ah… yeah…"

"Couldn't you see that I had Brett running scared?" John gave Scott another push. "And you interrupted me!"

"You were doing a brilliant job, John," Scott agreed, favouring him with a winning smile as he stumbled backwards. "You had him fooled. If I hadn't known better you would have fooled me."

"So why try to stop me?!" John took another menacing step forwards.

"Gordon's act wasn't my plan…"

"It's always your plan, Scott! Don't try to tell me that this time was different!"

"John," Scott said soothingly, placing his hands on his brother's shoulders, "Remember it's not me you're mad at." He pushed the angry red face away from his own.

"No! But you're a close second!"

"John," Virgil tapped him on his shoulder. "Here." He'd printed off a copy of the drawing he'd done on the tablet and he held it out to John. "Take your frustrations out on this."

"What is it!?" John snatched the paper out of Virgil's hands, unwittingly scoring him with a paper cut. He glared at the paper and then barked out a laugh. "Mousetopheles! I like it, Virg." He began tearing the paper to shreds.

"Mousetopheles?" Virgil sucked on the cut on his hand and looked at his artwork on the tablet. "Yeah, I guess it is." He wrote the caption underneath the drawing.

Scott looked at John, who was grinding the picture under his heel, then back at Virgil. "Mousetopheles?" He peered over his brother's shoulder at the picture. "Oh, I see…" He leant closer to Virgil's ear, keeping his voice low so John wouldn't hear him. "Thanks."

"Let's see, Virg." Gordon accepted the tablet computer and looked at the drawing. It was a cartoon of a mouse: with a few differences. The mouse's tail ended in the pointed tip of a devil's. In its paw it carried a pitchfork. Atop its head, in front of its ears, were a pair of horns. But, instead of the rodent's, or even Lucifer's face, a caricature of Angus Brett stared back at him. "Yep, that's Mousetopheles all right."

"Gimme another copy, Virg," John ordered and began attacking the new duplicate as soon as it was handed to him. His brothers watched him in bemusement.

"Are you guys catching this?" Alan asked, indicating the video screens. "Brett's really stressing out now."

They turned their attention to the video monitors, watching Angus Brett's reaction to John's videophone call. His calm, reassuring, and concerned manner had disappeared. Now he was in what could be called a blind panic. He sat at his desk, pulled open a drawer and slammed it shut again. Standing, he reached out for the videophone before he changed his mind, sat down again and re-opened the same drawer. They could hear him muttering "Think, Angus, think."

"Stew, Angus, stew," Gordon muttered.

John growled and continued ripping into the picture. Virgil printed him another.

Brett made his decision. He dialled a number on the videophone. It rang ten times before it was answered. On the screen in the Tracy's study an unlovely face appeared where John's has been. "Yeah? What can I do for you, A.B.?"

"That's him!" Alan exclaimed, pointing at the monitor screen. "That's the guy who hit me!"

He was shushed by his brothers.

"I'd like to hit him," John growled.

Yet again Brett gave the impression of being a man in charge of his emotions. "How is he, Miles?"

"Quiet," Miles replied.

"I'd like to give you quiet," John muttered.

Naturally, Miles didn't hear him. "I ain't given him breakfast or got this mornin's video yet."

"Well, don't worry about the video," Brett said. "I want to see him for myself. Are you still in the same place?"

"Where?" John asked the screen. "Tell us!"

"Yep, we ain't moved." There was a query in Miles' voice. Clearly he wasn't expecting this development.

"Okay. I'll be on my way shortly. All things being equal I'll be there early this evening."

Miles didn't look impressed. "Mr Earl ain't gonna like this."

"Tough on Mr Earl!" John muttered. "Trap 'em, Penny. Trap 'em all!"

Alan had grown tired of his brother's continued interruptions. "John!" he complained.

"What!" John glared at his youngest sibling.

"Uh…" Alan quickly decided that complaining was more than his life was worth. "Nothing."

"I want to work on our guest personally," Brett was explaining. "I think I've learnt something that will be to everyone's advantage." The Tracys glanced at each other, wary of the insinuation, as John growled something.

Miles wanted more information from Brett. "What?"

"This is not the time to tell you," Brett insisted. "I've got to talk to him first. I'll see you this evening, Miles." He signed off and the confident façade slipped away from his face. He began scurrying around his office.

"The more I see of him, the more he reminds me of a mouse," Alan said.

Lady Penelope gave a visible shudder. "I knew there was a reason why I didn't like him."

"Squash him, Penny!" John ordered. "Squash the little rodent!"

"He's a good actor," Gordon noted. "I'll say that for him…"

"What!?" John rounded on him. "How can you say anything positive about that… that…!?"

Gordon backed away from the hand that was waving under his nose. "Ah… it was just a comment, John."

"Calm down, John," Scott instructed. "Give him another picture, Virg."

Virgil did he was instructed, taking care to keep his hands clear of the paper's edge.

In Brett's office the safe had been unlocked and files were being pulled out and jammed into the briefcase.

"I wonder what they are about," Scott mused. "He obviously thinks they are important." Lady Penelope decided against enlightening him.

The signature forger was withdrawn and Brett tried to squeeze it into the case as well. When it didn't fit he tucked it under his arm, slammed the safe shut, and looked around his room.

"What's that thing?" Virgil asked.

"It copies handwriting," Lady Penelope explained.

Scott frowned. "Including signatures?"

Lady Penelope hesitated a moment. "Yes."

There was a knock on Brett's office door, before his secretary poked her head inside. "Mornin', Mr Brett," she said without inflection. "What can I do for you this mornin'?"

The unconcerned mask was on his face again. "Perhaps you'd like to tidy up in here? There're bugs all over the place… I've got a meeting I've got to go to with a client out of town. I might be gone for some time. At least until tomorrow."

She looked unenthusiastic about the task. "Tidy up?"

"Wonderful," Brett said expansively. "I knew I could count on you. I'll be back as soon as possible." He strode out of his office. His secretary looked about the room; her face screwed up in disgust.

"We're gettin' h-a signal, m'Lady," Parker informed his mistress. "'E's taken 'is car."

"Very good, Parker. It appears that our little plan is working. Well done, John."

He didn't appear to hear her as he shredded the copy of Virgil's picture, muttering to himself all the while.

"Leave him, Penny," Scott advised. "We'll extend your thanks later."

"Thank you, dear boy."

"Can't you trace the call somehow?" Virgil asked.

"I have been trying," Lady Penelope admitted. "Mr Miles was using a mobile phone. There wasn't an area number that I could track."

"Pity."

"Yes," she agreed. "Now if you will excuse us, we have work to do."

"Keep us informed of everything," Scott insisted. "We've got to know what's going on."

"I will," Lady Penelope promised and disappeared from the screen.

The other monitors showed Brett's secretary seated at his desk reading one of her magazines. Alan shut them down. "Now what do we do?" he asked. "I don't fancy sitting here while Penny and Parker undertake 'Operation Mousetopheles' alone. This is our fight too!"

"There's nothing we can do," Scott said. "Penny's the expert in this situation. She'll tell us as soon as we can help. In the meantime we've got to wait…"

"And wait, and wait, and wait," Gordon complained. "I can't sit around here waiting for her next vid-call."

"Go for a swim," Virgil suggested.

"I've had enough of swimming," Gordon snapped and received surprised looks from his brothers. "I need to do something useful. I need to do something to that little rat…"

"Virgil!" John rapped his brother on the shoulder. "Give me five copies of your cartoon!"

"Five?" Virgil rubbed his shoulder and beamed the image to his father's printer. Five pieces of paper scrolled out. John snatched them up and ran out of the room.

"What's with him?" Alan asked, following.

Virgil and Gordon were about to follow the blonde duo when Scott held them back. "Guys," he said, "The last couple of days I've been screamed at by both Alan and John, and I have a favour to ask. If either of you feel like taking out your frustrations on anyone, please make it someone else! My nerves are shot."

"Why? Can't you take it?" Gordon grinned.

"I wouldn't have had to if it hadn't been for you." Scott grabbed the scruff of the redhead's neck and gave him a shake. "What's the big idea of accusing me of thinking up your diversion?"

"I didn't like the way John was looking at me," Gordon admitted, ducking away from his brother's grip. "You know what he's like when he gets like that. He could do anything… And what I said was true! You said we had to do something, so I did… Besides, why are you complaining? It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "John's got Brett running scared; and, with any luck, now Brett's got some doubts about whether or not we're International Rescue."

Three watches beeped and they looked at their time-pieces. "Guys," Alan's image said. "I think you'd better come down to the shooting gallery and see this."

"See what?" Scott asked.

"Just get down here."

They arrived in the gallery to find a bemused Alan watching a still muttering John hanging caricatures over the targets. "He's really worked up this time," Alan whispered. "Listen to him!"

They listened. Occasionally a recognisable phrase made its way to their ears. "… acting as if you care…", "…get my hands on you…", "compassion, my foot," and something about "…missiles from Thunderbird Five…"

"But she's not armed," Alan whispered.

"John?" Scott decided that his nerves were steadier than he'd thought. "What are you doing?"

John picked up a gun and primed it. "Chose your weapons, fellas." He pointed the gun at a caricature and pulled the trigger. A hole appeared between Mousetopheles' eyes. "Got you, Sucker!"

"Good shooting, John," Gordon congratulated. "But wouldn't it be better with something a little more powerful?" He went to the arms cabinet and extracted a larger weapon. "Die Mousetopheles!" he chanted and a hole was blasted through the mouse's chest.

"Great shot, Gordon!" Alan exclaimed.

"No it wasn't. I was aiming for his head."

The next half hour was spent with them all finding bigger and better ways of destroying the caricature of their nemesis. All manner of equipment was used. Lasers, cutters and sonic guns, originally created to save lives, were used to vent their anger. Periodically Virgil was dispatched to print off more copies of his drawing. Once when he complained that he was the one doing all the running around, he was reminded that he was the one trying to lose weight… He returned a short time later carrying 50 copies.

Eventually all five brothers collapsed onto the floor amidst the debris of their destructive activity.

Scott ran a charred sheet of paper through his fingers. "That was a complete waste of time and resources."

"I'll bet you enjoyed it though, didn't you?" Virgil stated.

Scott grinned and gave a stretch of satisfaction. "Yep!"

"Feel better, John?" Alan asked.

John gave a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I guess I do now."

"I haven't seen you that mad for a long time," Gordon said.

"Well, I told him how we were falling apart and for a split second he gloated. He was actually gloating at us! He was glad that we were miserable…!" John was beginning to get worked up again. "He wanted to see us suffer! He was happy to make us think that our dad was dead…!"

"Whoa! Down boy!" Gordon patted him on the shoulder.

"Sorry," John apologised again. "I guess I'm not as good an actor as you thought I was."

"We should have got Gordon to do the phone call," Alan said. "That panic routine was pretty convincing."

"Gordon's had more practise acting," John noted. "The number of times that he's played a trick on us and then pretended to act all innocent!"

"And, worse still, fooled us," Virgil added.

Gordon smiled modestly. "We all have our talents."

"And, with any luck, your comment about Alan heading back to the cliff to where he'd seen Father may work in our favour," Scott noted.

"That's why I said it."

"Which cliff am I meant to have fallen off anyway?" Alan asked. "In case anyone asks."

"The steep one?" Gordon suggested.

"Or the rocky one?" John added.

Virgil leant back on his arms. "I wonder how Penny's getting on…?"

---F-A-B---

The shocking pink Rolls Royce was miles behind Angus Brett's dilapidated Ford. Despite this, inside the luxurious vehicle, there was no sign of stress.

Lady Penelope poured herself a cup of tea and settled back in her seat. "Which way is he heading, Parker?"

"'E h-appears to be 'eading north."

"North…" Lady Penelope brought a map up on a monitor. "Now I wonder what is of interest north of here…"

"'E's stoppin'!" Parker exclaimed. "H-It's a vehicular monorail!"

"Dear me," Lady Penelope said. "He appears intent on catching the train. How tiresome. FAB1 does rather stand out in the crowd."

"'E's gone to that h-end of the train," Parker said. "We'll get h-a carriage down this h-end." He drove the Rolls Royce away from Brett's signal.

A young man came up to the car's window with an electronic ticket dispenser. "Where are you folk headed?" he asked.

"Wherever the mood takes us," Lady Penelope said gaily. She battered her eyes at the man. "Where is this delightful vehicle going?"

He touched the peak of his hat. "Los Angeles, California, Ma'am."

"Then Los Angeles, California is where we are going," Lady Penelope smiled. "Do you think we shall see movie stars?"

"Can't say," the young man said. "You'll be loaded in a moment."

"Oh, thank you. How simply thrilling."

The rail employee received a signal. "Drive onto that platform, Pal," he told Parker. "You'll be loaded from there."

"Ta, Mate," Parker responded. He drove FAB1 so that it was parked parallel to the side of the monorail. Protective barriers rose up on three sides of the car and then the whole platform started to rise up into the air. When it reached its zenith it moved sideways, sliding the platform and car into the monorail's carriage. The hoist was retracted and the exterior door slid shut.

"Well, for better or for worse, we are on our way to California, Parker," Lady Penelope noted as she alighted from FAB1. "We shall have to keep a close watch on the homing device to make sure our Mr Brett doesn't leave the monorail sooner than expected."

"I suppose 'eading to the buffet car's h-out of the question," Parker said.

"I'm afraid so. We can't take any chances that our quarry will see us. Let us sit in our compartment and order room service."

They felt the monorail start to move. "We're off, Madam."

"We are indeed, Parker. Let us hope that we are on our way to finding Jeff Tracy…"

_To be continued…_


	15. Waiting

_Sorry everyone, but I'm off on holiday again tomorrow, (blame the New Zealand Government for giving us public holidays and the place where I work for deciding to have a day's holiday on Monday), so this is the last chapter until Tuesday afternoon. _

_I'm sure that Quiller's still open to bribes._

_ FAB_

_Purupuss.  
_

**15 Fifteen: Waiting**

The computerised readout ticked down from 600 miles per hour, through 300 m/h, and continued tracking downwards as the monorail drew close to a station. Seated in FAB1 Lady Penelope and Parker were watching a different display.

"'E h-appears to be 'eading back to 'is car," Parker noted, as he watched the signals from the homing devices.

"He does indeed. Perhaps we are reaching his stop. We had better be prepared."

Parker signalled that they wished to alight as they felt the monorail glide to a halt.

They were fortunate in that Brett's car was offloaded before FAB1. They were therefore a comfortable distance behind him when they set off on his trail.

The terrain was vastly different to that which they'd left. Instead of flat plains they were in the foothills of a mountain range. They began climbing into a deepening gloom. As if forewarning the pair of impending disaster, the clouds began to close in…

* * *

Jeff Tracy lay in his cell. As long as he was careful, his face was no longer sore, but his leg had settled down to a continuous throbbing pain. He didn't know what hurt more, the limb or his heart. He sat up and shut his eyes against the ever present reminders. 

This time he wasn't trapped in an old, concrete-floored warehouse, but a wooden building with an ill-fitting wooden floor. Cold gusts of air were continuously being blown up through the gaps, chilling him. Instead of straw, the only protection he had against the draughts were copies of recent newspapers and he had no doubt that their inclusion was not accidental. Each one had an article relating to the mysterious crash of one of the world's richest men, and the subsequent loss of life of innocent civilians.

Out of morbid curiosity he'd read some of them. Most expressed surprise that an experienced pilot had crashed his plane. Many theorised as to why the accident had happened. Some blamed him, some blamed the jet, some blamed the airfield, some blamed the weather and Jeff even managed to find amusement from the article that stated with confidence that he'd been spirited away by a UFO. "You're closer to the truth than you realise," he'd chuckled.

Some of the papers detailed the lives of those who were killed, including an embarrassingly gushing obituary about Jeff Tracy - the astronaut who became a successful businessman. One tabloid paper had a photo of the villa on Tracy Island. The photo was blurred and out of focus, but Jeff could make out the figures of two of his sons hustling off the patio. From their builds he guessed they were Scott and Alan.

Then he'd found the death notices dated the day after the crash. They were filled with the heart-wrenching farewells by loved ones…

…Including that of his own family:

'Jefferson Tracy', it began, followed by his Air Force number. He began reading; yet not reading; finding himself skipping over parts of the obituary. 'Tragically… Loved, respected and admired father and friend… Much loved son… Esteemed employer… Honoured… Always remembered… Forever missed…'

Yet again Jeff felt a lump form in his throat. He carefully folded the scrap of paper up and slipped it back into his breast pocket. Then he pulled his neck chain over his head; his hands brushing against the whiskers on his face. His fingers traced over the five initials embedded in the chain, before he clasped his hand tightly around it; the letters digging into his skin. He held it to his heart.

He hated being the instrument of so much pain.

The door opened and he struggled to his feet, jamming the chain into his pocket so it wouldn't be seen.

Miles stepped inside…

* * *

Alan sat alone up at Jefferson Lookout, watching light play on the water. He became aware of someone coming up the path. 

"Alan," Tin-Tin said shyly.

"Tin-Tin?"

"What are you doing?" She was standing at the end of the path as if she was reluctant to come any closer.

"Nothing," Alan admitted. "Just thinking. Why are you here?"

"I want to apologise to you."

"Apologise to me? For what?"

"For not believing you. For not believing you when you said you'd seen your father."

He held out his hand to her and, when she took it, pulled her onto the seat beside him. "Don't worry about it. No one believed me. Not even me at first, and I was seeing him with my own eyes."

She nestled into his arm. "But I feel bad. If I'd believed you and helped you then maybe Mr Tracy would be home by now."

"Or, as Lady Penelope said, the people holding him might have gone to ground… or worse…"

"Alan!" Tin-Tin turned so she was able to look at him. "You don't think they would hurt him, do you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore. But you've got to admit that anyone who doesn't worry about killing 30-odd innocent people isn't going to worry about one man…" He felt her start to shake and held her close. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have said that. He'll be all right."

"Are you worried?"

Alan brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Honey, I've been worried for so long that I can't remember what it's like not to be…"

---F-A-B---

"John," Gordon called. "Have you seen Virgil?"

"Nope." John continued cleaning the lens of his telescope. "Has he escaped your evil clutches?"

"Yes, the rat…" Gordon caught himself. "No… I shouldn't call him that. I only know of one overgrown rodent."

"And calling Brett that is an insult to all species of the rodent variety," John said, peering through the lens and then polishing it again.

"True… But you're the one who came up with the name of 'Mousetopheles'."

"That I can live with." John replaced the lens before fixing his brother with an earnest expression. "How much of a devil do you think Brett is, Gordon?"

Gordon gave John a wary look. "How do you mean?"

"How far do you think he's likely to go to get what he wants?"

"If you're asking me if I think Dad's in danger…?" Gordon spread his hands wide. "I honestly don't know. I wouldn't have thought that Brett had it in him, but then I never once dreamed that he was capable of doing what he's done."

"And if, like Penny says, he's had help…"

"Yeah…"

They were silent a moment.

"Poor Alan," Gordon eventually said. "With us not believing him, these last few days must have been pure torture."

"Did you ever think there was any truth in what he was saying?" John asked.

"No. Look at all the evidence against it."

"And yet the most compelling evidence, that our kid brother saw Dad with his own eyes, we weren't willing to believe. What does that say about us?"

"That we're human?"

"Maybe," John admitted. "It doesn't stop me feeling guilty though."

"Me too," Gordon agreed. He sighed. "Oh, well. I'll continue hunting. At least it's something constructive I can do. Catch you later, John…"

---F-A-B---

"Are you planning tomorrow's meals, Mrs Tracy?"

Grandma looked up. "I didn't see you there, Kyrano... No," she looked back down at the recipe book. "I'm deciding what to cook for Jeff's homecoming. He has so many favourite dishes that I don't know where to start."

"It is wonderful news, is it not, that Mr Tracy is alive," Kyrano beamed.

"Wonderful indeed. But I feel that I won't be able to truly believe it until he is home and I am able to see him with my own two eyes." Kyrano nodded his assent, but was surprised by her next question. "Do you think Jeff is still alive, Kyrano?"

"Mrs Tracy?"

"I have no doubt now that Alan saw him, but that was three days ago and there's been no sign of him since."

"I believe," Kyrano began cautiously, "I believe that Mr Tracy would not willingly let go of this life. As long as there was breath in his body he would fight to live."

"True," Grandma mused. "Only once have I seen him close to giving up," she frowned at the memories. "And if it weren't for those five boys I believe he would have."

"I remember."

They lost themselves in the shared memories…

---F-A-B---

Brains bit his thumbnail. Lady Penelope's revelation that Jeff Tracy had been alive had rocked him. Initially he had felt light-hearted; freed from the weight of the suspicion that he'd been instrumental in his friend's death. But as time had passed and he'd allowed himself to dwell on the findings heavy feelings of concern had returned.

Where was Jeff Tracy and why hadn't he been seen since Alan had found him in that warehouse?

Brains and Lady Penelope had decided that it would be prudent not to mention her findings to the A.A.I., in case Jeff's kidnappers got wind of the change in the investigation and felt threatened. In the interim they would allow the officials to continue searching for the reason why an experienced pilot should crash his state-of-the-art plane...

"Hiram… Hiram!"

Brains finally realised that he was being spoken to. He looked up at David Campbell. "Y-Yes?"

"You were miles away."

Brains managed a smile. "N-Not really."

"We've finished our search."

Brains sat up straight. "What?!"

"It's not good practise, and if anyone finds out I'll be out of a job, but I'm going to tell you my findings. You're too nice a guy to leave hanging."

Embarrassed, Brains shifted in his seat. "Th-Thank you."

"But you've got to promise not to mention that I've spoken about this to anyone. Not even the Tracys!"

"I-I promise."

"I don't think Jeff Tracy was flying that plane."

Brains tried to appear surprised at the revelation. "Wh-Wh-What?" For once he was glad of his stutter.

"I think that 'remote control device' we found was exactly that. I think that was what was flying the jet."

"Then where was Mr Tracy?"

David smiled. "Wherever he was, it wasn't on that plane."

"B-B-But the D-D-D…"

"D.N.A? There wasn't enough present to constitute the remains of one man. Someone has tricked us. The question is who and why. I've already handed my findings over to the police."

"Wh-Who do you think planned all this?" Brains asked.

David lost his smile. "The police will want to interview you about that… Do you think there's any chance that Mr Tracy could have faked his own death?"

"N-N-No!" Brains shook his head frantically. "Th-That would have caused t-t-too much pain to his family! And he could never h-h-have h-h-harmed innocent people! Never! You can't accuse him of th-th-that…!"

"Calm down!" David soothed. "It's just one theory and you, as a scientist, know that each theory must be analysed before it is discarded."

Brains nodded. And bit his thumbnail again as he wondered what had happened to Jeff Tracy…

---F-A-B---

"I thought this might be where I'd find you."

Scott turned from where he was leaning on a guard rail, gazing up at Thunderbird One. "Hi, Virg. How'd you know I was here?"

Virgil screwed up his face. "I used my mystical ability to read your mind..." He relaxed and leant on the rail beside his brother. "Actually I'm trying to hide from Gordon. I figured that the refuelling platform in Thunderbird One's hangar was the one place where he wouldn't think to look for me."

"Bit of a slave driver, is he?"

"A bit?! I'm sure he must have been a PT instructor as well as a drill sergeant when he was with WASP. I appreciate his help, but there are limits. I'm not trying to win an Olympic medal!"

Scott laughed and resumed his inspection of Thunderbird One.

Virgil watched him for a moment. "I know you feel guilty, but firing one of Thunderbird One's missiles into Angus Brett isn't going to solve anything."

"How'd you know!?" Scott stared at his brother again. "You can't blame Gordon for that statement."

"I know you."

Scott sighed. "I know it wouldn't solve anything. I know it goes against everything International Rescue stands for. I know Father would never forgive me..."

"You'd never forgive you," Virgil reminded him.

"Maybe… But I can't forgive myself for the fact that I didn't check with the accountant earlier. One phone call and I would have known that something was wrong and done something about it. Look at the time I've wasted!"

"The rest of us aren't blameless, Scott. You were grieving as much as we were and yet we were quite happy to leave all the responsibilities with you. Alan's the only one who's come out of this whole episode with pride intact."

"Alan…" Scott sighed. "Look at the way we treated him. He was telling the truth and I thought he was losing his mind."

"We all did… Although I thought he'd come to his senses about selling the island. It was the rest of you who were obviously losing it as far as that was concerned."

"Any more cracks like that," with a sly expression on his face, Scott put his hand to his watch, "and Gordon might just discover your newest hiding place!" He lowered his hands as all traces of humour disappeared from his voice. "I can't stand this hanging around here waiting... Doing nothing! Father's in trouble and we're sitting here!"

"Not sitting. You're standing there rediscovering your homicidal tendencies and I'm trying to escape the clutches of 'Blackbeard'… or 'Redhair'."

"But what if, at this very minute, Brett's associates are…?" Scott clenched his fists again as he looked away from Virgil. "What if Penny's too late?" he whispered.

Virgil placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Don't think you're the only one who's been thinking that," he admitted. "My imagination's been running on overdrive since Penny dropped her bombshell."

"One of the pitfalls of a creative mind, huh?"

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "You don't want to know some of the scenarios I've been envisaging."

"Then how come you're managing to remain so calm?"

"Because I can't do anything. I realised early on that if I made the decision to head out to the States to get my revenge, you'd read my mind and be there and back by the time I'd managed to launch Thunderbird Two."

Scott managed a chuckle. "So homicidal tendencies are genetic?"

"Must be…"

An alarm started screeching. Without a word to each other the brothers ran out of Thunderbird One's hangar and through the complex to the lounge.

John was already seated at his father's desk; Gordon hovering at his shoulder. "I see," John was saying. "Any idea how long you've got?"

"Dunno. It's rising about a metre an hour. I reckon we've got about three," the voice on the other end of the radio said.

"What going on?" Scott asked Gordon.

"Heavy rainfall in Nevada. There's been a huge landslide blocking a river. The water's backing up and threatening to flood a town."

"Can't the people get out?" Virgil asked.

"There's only one access road. They'll need help evacuating or, if the worst happens, rescuing everyone."

"Tell them we're on our way, John," Scott ordered. He placed his back to the wall between the two light fittings as Alan, panting slightly, raced through the patio doors. "You four all go in Thunderbird Two. I hope we don't need it but take 'The Duck' and the flood recovery equipment. I'll call as soon as I know more. Tell Tin-Tin she's in charge…"

The wall panel twisted out of sight…

_To be continued…_

_  
Okay, so you won't think that I'm as evil as a certain Mousetopheles, and to keep flames to a minimum, I'll try and upload chapter sixteen before we leave tomorrow morning.If I run out of time, my apologies in advance...  
_

_FAB_

_ Purupuss _


	16. Rescue

_Made it!_

**16 Sixteen: Rescue**

Angus Brett drove into the deserted village. Trying to avoid the pounding rain he parked next to a verandah that offered him some shelter as he exited his car. Then he leant into his vehicle and extracted his briefcase and the forgery machine. He turned back and walked straight into a brick wall.

Horace Miles looked down on the little man who'd just walked into him. "You shouldn't have come here. Mr Earl isn't pleased."

Bret felt a cold shiver slither down his spine. "I thought it was for the best."

"What if you were followed?"

"I wasn't. I checked." Brett felt another tremor race through his body; but this one wasn't a result of fear. "It's cold out here. Shall we go inside?"

Without a word of comment, Miles led the way and Brett found that they, along with two other men, were inside a dilapidated building. A glance at the boarded up windows explained why the only light source came from a battery operated lantern. "Solar panel not charged," Miles explained.

"How's our guest?" Brett asked.

"Bit jumpy when I took him his breakfast."

Brett looked at Miles sharply. "Any reason for that?"

"Nah. I'd guess he's gettin' a bit stir crazy, that's all. It gets them all in the end. I don't think he liked the readin' material I left him." Miles gave an evil laugh and Brett felt that shiver again.

"You haven't hurt him?"

"No…" Miles gave the sigh of someone who was losing his patience at having to explain the basics over and over to an uncooperative pupil. Then he chuckled "Well, nothin' that shows..." His associates laughed as Miles cracked his knuckles. "It would save a lot of problems if we were to just…"

"No!" Brett exclaimed. "That's out of the question!" He put the forgery machine onto the table. "I'm returning that. I won't need it any more."

"Returnin' it?" Miles picked up the unit and looked at it before fixing Brett with a curious stare. "Why?"

"I had a message from one of our marks," Brett said, feeling proud of himself for remembering to use what he perceived to be gangland jargon. "The cops think Tracy was murdered and they know who the culprit is and why it was done." Miles' eyes narrowed. "I can't risk having anything that might indict me."

"Did he say who they thought was guilty?"

"No," Brett shook his head. "He told me he wasn't supposed to tell anyone but he thought I should know." He laughed.

"Have they signed over the island yet?"

His laughter died in his throat as Brett heard the question he'd been hoping he wouldn't be asked. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time…"

"Time?" Miles hissed. "Time is something that both you and Tracy are running low on."

Brett felt the fear shiver race down his spine again…

---F-A-B---

Scott Tracy stood beneath Thunderbird One's wing, glad of the little shelter that his craft provided. "How far away are you, Virgil?"

"Five point two seven minutes, Scott. What's the situation?"

Scott relaxed. "That should give us plenty of time to evacuate everyone. At the present rate of increase, we think the flood waters will breach the banks in just under one hour."

"Can't we clear away the landslip?" Virgil asked.

"Negative. It looks as though half the hillside's come down and that's the only thing stopping the entire hill from giving way. We'll evacuate. It'll be simpler and is guaranteed to be successful. There's a clear area big enough for Thunderbird Two 200 metres south of the town. It's the local football field."

"F-A-B," Virgil agreed. "Touching down in four point eight one minutes."

---F-A-B---

"'E's stopped movin', m'Lady," Parker said.

"So he has," Lady Penelope agreed. "Let us find somewhere to conceal FAB1. We shall have to walk the remainder of the way; we do not want to alert our quarry to our presence." She looked up through the gull wing canopy of the Rolls Royce and sighed. "It is still raining. How tiresome, we shall be soaking wet."

"H-Umbrellas would be more trouble than they're worth," Parker noted.

Lady Penelope agreed before she alighted from the car. But, as the water soaked her pants suit and filled her galoshes, for a moment she doubted their decision. Then she gave a resigned sigh. "Let us proceed."

---F-A-B---

"That's everyone, Virgil," Scott said into his radio. "You can lift off as soon as I'm clear." He started walking back down the ramp that led up to the pod's interior, taking care not to slip on the wet surface.

"Wait!" a man yelled. "There's someone else!"

Scott frowned at him. "But I thought we'd evacuated the town."

"You have. But this is a service town; built to maintain the dam further up the river… I'm the site manager," the man explained. "One of our technicians is working there. I spoke to him before I boarded and he's not reporting any problems… but if he strikes trouble…"

"Okay," Scott conceded. "I'll take Thunderbird One and collect him…"

---F-A-B---

Lady Penelope was unpleasantly reminded of her last trip into the American backwoods as they plodded along the muddy road through impromptu streams that ran down out of the hills. "At least," she conceded to herself, "My clothing is more appropriate this time."

Parker gave himself a shake, trying unsuccessfully to relieve himself of some of the weight of water that was becoming trapped in his uniform.

They were weary and sick of the continuously beating water, but nothing would stop them from trying to find Jeff Tracy.

---F-A-B---

Brett sat on an uncomfortable wooden stool and poked his fork without enthusiasm at the food on his plate. "Is this what you've been living on?"

Three people looked up. "What's wrong wiv it?" Miles asked, his mouth full.

"It's… well… It's not exactly flavoursome, is it?"

The other three looked at each other, shrugged, and continued eating.

Brett dropped the fork onto his plate. "Look, can't I see Tracy now?"

"No." Miles pointed at him with his knife. "Not until Mr Earl says you can."

"But I have to see him!"

Miles glowered at him. "What you have to do is stay there! You're not going anywhere until we've finished." A light flashed. "Hallo…" he dragged his bulk out of the chair and over to a computer that Brett had failed to notice in the gloom. "We have company... Two people… Come on, boys!" He pointed at Brett again. "You are staying here until we get back…"

---F-A-B---

Scott flew in Thunderbird One up the gorge that traced the route of the river. He reached the dam and touched down. Upon exiting the rocket plane he was just able to make out the figure of a man, bent low against the rain, running towards him. "Hi!" he shouted over the noise of water hammering on One's fuselage. "Get inside quick!" Gratefully the man stepped inside out of the deluge and stood there, dripping onto the floor. "Have a seat," Scott offered. "What's your name?"

"Roy," the man replied and looked askance at Thunderbird One's passenger seats. "I'll ruin them."

"Don't worry about that," Scott reassured them. "I've had worse things than your wet clothes in here."

"I can imagine," Roy replied and settled into a seat, grimacing as he felt water squeeze out of his garments.

Scott assisted him with his safety harness. "How secure is the dam?"

"Safe as houses," Roy reassured him. "The overflows are working a treat. We had to choose between keeping them shut and risking the dam blowing and taking out the town, or opening them up fully and evacuating everyone. We figured this was the better way."

"You're the last one out of here," Scott grunted as he settled into the pilot's seat. "Unless you know of anybody else…"

Roy shook his head. "No, I'm it… Except…"

Scott turned in his seat. "Except what?"

"When I came up here a couple of days ago I noticed some activity around a deserted town."

"Activity?"

"Helicopters mainly."

"So, do you think that anyone's still on site?"

Roy shrugged. "I don't know."

"Okay," Scott reached a decision. "We're taking the slow route back down. I want to check out that town…"

---F-A-B---

Thunderbird Two touched down in the playing field of a town well away from the still rising river. "Okay, Folks," Gordon announced. "This is your stop…"

John covered his radio mike. "I wouldn't hurry them, Gordon," he warned. "Virgil says their transport hasn't arrived yet. They may as well stay put."

The three Tracy brothers surveyed the passenger deck. It was full of uptight people, precious belongings, and barking, mewing and twittering pets. "What do we do with them in the meantime?" Alan asked.

"Show an in-flight movie?" Gordon suggested.

His brothers gave him 'don't be stupid' looks.

"Virgil to John…"

John grabbed the radio. "Go ahead, Virgil."

"There're some buses arriving. I'll go out and make the arrangements. I'll give you a call when you can start off-loading."

"F-A-B."

---F-A-B---

The rain was falling so hard that they had no choice but to keep their eyes shut against the stinging drops; opening them only briefly to confirm they hadn't strayed from the path. The sound of the downpour was almost deafening, as water cascaded against rocks, through trees and into the nearby rising river.

Lady Penelope gave an involuntary yelp when someone grabbed her from behind. "Parker!"

"M'Lady!" Parker ducked a swinging fist and felt another slam into the reinforced material that formed his uniform's midriff section. His attacker cried out in pain and swore, holding his injured hand. "Good solid British tweed," Parker said with pride. "Gives ya protection h-against h-all sorts."

Lady Penelope took advantage of her assistant's diversion to free herself from an iron grip. Raking the heel down the man's shin, she drove her elbow sharply into his solar plexis. He doubled over, gasping for air. "Hhhit… hhhher!" he demanded.

"Hit her?" the third and final man exclaimed. "She's a lady!"

"Why thank you," Lady Penelope responded as she delivered a kick to his chin causing him to collapse to the ground in a fountain of water. "Good breeding always shows through. Is that not true, Parker?"

"You can h-always tell class," Parker agreed as he dodged another blow and landed a punch below his opponent's belt. The man let out a squeal of pain. "H-And I ain't got none."

"Nonsense, Parker," Lady Penelope rebuked him. "You are a gentleman! Unlike these…" Her first attacker was attempting to creep up behind her and she threw her elbow into his throat. Yet again he staggered back. "Dear me. I shall have the most horrible bruises on my arm."

Bleeding from where he'd bitten his lip, the third man hesitated as he decided which of his pals to help. He decided that he'd rather tackle Parker; bringing him to the ground.

Parker rolled out of the way of the kick that was aimed at his head. "So you want ta fight do ya?" he asked. He picked up his chauffeurs cap. "'Ere, 'old this for me." He tossed it, Frisbee like, towards his original assailant. Reflexes acting before commonsense, the man caught it, inadvertently breaking a small vial of knockout gas that had been concealed in the cap's crown. He collapsed, choking, to the ground where he lay unconscious.

"One down. Two to go." Parker said in satisfaction.

The second man grabbed at Parker who slithered out of his clutches and then clambered to his feet, delivering a well aimed kick of his own. "'Ow you goin', m'Lady?"

"Swimmingly," she replied, dodging another blow and throwing her wet hair out of her face. "Though I don't think we should play for much longer."

"H-I'm with you," Parker grunted as he received a hit to the chest which caused him to stagger backwards; dangerously close to the crumbling riverbank. 'H-I'm getting' tired of this." He pushed a button on his lapel and a stream of liquid shot out of the insignia that resided there. Despite being diluted by the time it reached its target, it hit the second man between the eyes and he fell to the ground, as unconscious as his associate.

"Freeze or I'll shoot!"

Glad of the chance to regain their breath, Lady Penelope and Parker stopped fighting. They turned to face their final attacker; the one who had originally grabbed Lady Penelope. Behind the veil of rain, he was pointing a gun at them. "Get your hands up where I can see them!" He cocked the gun as they complied. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Friends of Angus Brett's," Lady Penelope informed him.

"Friends?" The man frowned. Water ran down the bridge of his nose and he blew it away. "Then whatchya doin' all the way up here?"

"He has something that doesn't belong to him," Lady Penelope told him. "We are rather keen to get it back."

"Yeah? What?"

"A very personal item. A treasure belonging to friends of ours." Lady Penelope rubbed her finger on one of the rings that adorned her hands. "Now, if you will excuse us. I don't wish to keep you occupied any longer than necessary." A tiny dart shot out of the ring, embedding itself into the man's neck. With a look of surprise on his face, he crumpled to the ground.

Sloshing through muddy pools, Parker walked over to the man and pulled his head back by his hair. "'Ello! H-I think Mister Alan may 'ave h-already made this geezer's h-acquaintance."

Lady Penelope leant over so that she could examine her attacker's face closely. "Well, well. Horace Miles," she said, and Parker let go of Miles' hair, allowing his face to fall back into the gooey mud. "This may be a good sign, Parker. It may mean that Jeff is being held nearby."

"H-And, h-if Miles h-is h-in charge, this might be h-our h-only h-opposition. H-Except Brett."

"And I feel that our Mousetopheles, as dear John so aptly called him, is unlikely to put up any physical resistance at all. Let us proceed, Parker."

---F-A-B---

"Any word from Scott?" Gordon asked John; once he'd closed the door to the minibus that was transporting the last of the evacuees to their accommodation for the night.

"No… Unless Virgil has heard from him," John suggested. He stepped out from under Thunderbird Two's sheltering wing. "All done, Alan?" he yelled.

Alan jogged through the rain to join his brothers. "Yep. Are we set to go home now?"

"Once we've got the okay from Scott," John said. "You haven't heard from him, have you?"

"Me? No. Maybe Virgil has?"

The three of them entered the mammoth aeroplane and made their way up to the flight deck. They were in time to hear the tail end of the conversation between their brothers.

"What's up?" Alan asked.

"There's been some activity around an abandoned town upstream over the last few days," Virgil said. "Scott's checking it out on his way back down. I said we'd meet him here."

Gordon sat down, hearing the water squelch out of his uniform. "So we've got to sit here in discomfort while we wait for him?"

"You're worried about a little water?" Alan asked. "The man who is part fish?"

"You could always put your spare uniform on," John suggested.

"No, I'm all right," Gordon grumbled. "I've got a feeling we're going to get wet all over again."

---F-A-B---

Thunderbird One searched for the town that appeared to be hiding in the tumultuous rain.

"It was built at the end of last century," Roy explained. "It housed the people who built the dam, but they vacated it once the project was over."

"Why don't the people who maintain the dam live there now?" Scott asked.

"Too far from 'civilisation'. They decided that the area further down the valley was a better compromise."

"Where we've just evacuated everyone?"

"Uh… Yeah…"

"There's the town." Scott pointed at a screen. "You're right. There are people down there. I can count four scattered around the place." Roy stared at a screen. He could only make out four dots on a hazy grey background.

"There's too many for me to pick up," Scott said. "I'll radio Thunderbird Two to come and collect them."

"There's a helicopter pad that doubled as the recreation ground about a kilometre south of the town centre," Roy suggested. "Thunderbird Two could land there."

"Good. Thanks," Scott was about to initiate radio contact when he spotted something. "Hang on… I think I saw someone else… On the road south of the town."

"Where?!" Roy peered at his screen. "I can't see… Yes, I can…! They're not moving! Are they all right?"

"I don't know," Scott brought Thunderbird One down lower. "They must be unconscious. Usually by now I either have people waving at me or running away." He landed his plane on the road. "Thunderbird One's a scout craft, not a transporter, it's going to be a squeeze fitting the three of them in here…" He unbuckled his harness and stood. "You can stay here in the dry if you want."

"I'm already wet," Roy rejoined. "You're going to need help."

The rain was so heavy that they nearly tripped over the first of the three men before they saw him. Scott crouched down to examine the unconscious person. "He's out cold. Can't find any injuries…" He noticed some bruises to the man's face. "He's been fighting."

"So has this one," Roy said.

"And this," Scott straightened from his examination. "I don't like this. Let's get these three on board and get out of here."

"I'm with you, Pal," Roy agreed. Together they shifted the first man onto a stretcher and carried him into Thunderbird One.

They managed to squeeze the second man into the cabin, but the third man, the biggest of the three, was more of a challenge.

The rain was coming down harder.

"I've got no choice," Scott yelled over the rain as he opened a side compartment. "We're going to have to put him in here. It'll only be for five minutes."

"Are you sure he'll be okay?" Roy asked.

"He'll be fine. It's an emergency unit for situations like this. I don't like doing it, but we can't leave him out in this weather, there's no room for the five of us in the cabin, and I don't fancy his chances if whoever did this to them comes back."

"Okay," Roy conceded. "You're International Rescue. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?"

'_That,'_ Scott thought, _'is the sixty four thousand dollar question.'_

---F-A-B---

"Come on, Scott," Alan muttered. "I'm getting cold."

"Can you turn the heat up, Virgil?" John requested.

"Okay…" Virgil reached for the appropriate control. He arrested the movement when he received a message over the radio. "Go ahead, Scott."

"I've picked up another three victims. They're going to need medical help… And get the 'Duck' ready. There are four others in the town itself; condition unknown."

"Okay. We'll arrange the ambulance and head up to the town."

"No! Don't do that. Not until I get back. I'm coming with you."

"Scott?" Virgil could hear John contacting the local paramedics.

"These three guys I've picked up. They've been fighting and they're out cold. Who ever did it is possibly in that town. I reckon there could be safety in numbers. You'd better tell the police to stand by."

"F-A-B," Virgil agreed. "We'll wait."

---F-A-B---

Lady Penelope and Parker had reached the town. They crept along empty streets, hugging every bit of protection they could find and trying to ignore the water that pelted their bodies and ran down their necks.

They heard a noise and froze.

Someone had come out under the verandah of one of the shops as if he were looking for someone else.

It was Angus Brett.

* * *

"Lucky this flat area was here," Virgil commented as he shut down Thunderbird Two's motors. "It's almost a perfect fit." 

"Apparently it used to be the helicopter pad and recreation area," Scott told him. "Okay, fellas. Time to load up."

The 'Duck' was another of International Rescue's fantastic machines. It was long and thin with articulated sides which enabled it to traverse narrow, winding paths. When designing it Brains had boasted that would, "t-take to water l-like a duck". And the name had stuck, despite the fact that most observers had wondered why it hadn't been christened the 'centipede', or at least the 'worm'. Essentially a transporter, the Duck was designed to be able to traverse all types of terrain with equal ease; from dry, smooth roads, to churning flood waters. The machine's versatility meant its ride wasn't exactly smooth; even Gordon had been known to have felt a touch of nausea when travelling in it (his brothers had blamed a chocolate binge the night before); but it was efficient and big enough to hold twenty people.

"All set?" Virgil asked, and sent the Duck waddling down the pod's ramp.

"Ow!" Alan complained as his head was bashed against the wall. "We've got to get this thing padded. Either that or improve the suspension."

"You'd feel more at home if it was a padded cell, would you?" Gordon asked.

"At least I'd arrive at the danger zone without a headache," Alan retorted as he was thrown against the wall again.

---F-A-B---

Angus Brett had retreated inside. Using a scanner Lady Penelope checked the building. "He's alone," she reported.

"What?" Parker asked, leaning closer so he could hear her over the rain.

"He's alone," she repeated in a louder voice.

"What?"

Lady Penelope gave up. She showed him the scanner and began moving towards the steps; keeping bent low so she had the opportunity to duck down out of sight should their quarry exit the building again. She scampered up the steps and flattened herself against the wall beside the door. Parker mimicked her action and they stood, as still as a pair of bookends, on either side of the entrance.

Lady Penelope raised three fingers. First she folded one down into the palm of her hand. One second later only one finger remained aloft. And then…

It was almost ridiculously easy. The door swung open and they caught Brett alone, un-armed, and with his back to the entrance. He spun around; his mouth falling open. "Lady Penelope?" He gripped the back of one of the chairs that surrounded the table.

"Were you perhaps expecting Horace Miles?" Lady Penelope locked the door.

Brett blanched, fumbled with his jacket, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a gun which he pointed unsteadily at the duo. It appeared to be heavy in his hands.

Parker laughed. "Quick-draw, huh?"

Lady Penelope sighed. "Don't be tiresome, Mr Brett. Put the gun down on the table."

"No!" the pistol swung back and forth between the pair of them. "Why'd you come here?"

"Why?" Lady Penelope's gave a dangerous smile. "To find Jeff Tracy, of course."

"Jeff Tracy…?" Then Brett laughed. "You're crazy. Everyone knows he's dead."

"Everyone thinks he's dead," Lady Penelope amended. "For your sake he had better be still be alive."

"For my sake? Why? You know I've been overseeing the execution of his will… Jeff Tracy is dead."

"Correction. You have presented a fake will to the Tracys. Where is Jeff? And you had better hope that you haven't overseen another, er, execution."

"I haven't!" Brett spread his hands apart in a gesture of openness and honesty. "I don't know," he insisted before remembering the gun and pointing it back at Parker. He kept on glancing at the door.

"If you are waiting for the cavalry, I'm afraid you will be sorely disappointed," Lady Penelope informed him. "They are currently, in this beastly weather, lying on the road out of town. I confidently don't expect to have any trouble from them for," she glanced at her watch, "at least the next 23 hours."

Brett's jaw dropped again. "Who are you?"

"I am a friend of Jeff Tracy and his family. Anyone who hurts them; hurts me. And I do not like being hurt, Mr Brett. It plays havoc with one's complexion."

Brett stared at her in disbelief.

"Look," Parker said. "Why don't you save h-us h-all h-a lot of bother h-and put the piece down? Then we'll go h-easy on ya."

Brett appeared to waiver. Then he straightened his shoulders. "No…"

---F-A-B---

Jeff lay on his bed of newspapers and tried to sleep in the dim light of the lamp. He had lost all idea of time, but his body clock was telling him that it was the thing to do. He tried not dwell on his predicament. He tried not to think about what those he cared about were going through. He tried not to foretell his future. He tried to ignore the draught coming up through the floorboards.

Something about the draught made him sit up. Now it was not only cold; but cold and damp. Above the roar of rain on the roof, he could hear a rushing sound; the unmistakable noise of liquid pushing past obstacles. Gallons of liquid. As he watched, water pushed its way up between the floorboards and seeped along the grooves; forming puddles on the wooden floor. He got to his feet as the water soaked into his bed of newspapers. He could only watch in helpless horror as the flood waters covered the floor and began filling up the room…

---F-A-B---

"We've got trouble!" John reported from his seat at the communications console in the Duck. "More of the hillside's collapsed. There's a huge backwash from the river on the way…"

The Duck made a violent movement to port, threatening to roll right over. There was a hissing sound and they felt pontoons inflate to stabilise the craft. Everything settled down to its rough waddling motion again.

"Phew!" Scott exclaimed. "Everyone okay?" He received four affirmative replies.

"Talk about white water!" Virgil yelled over his shoulder from the driver's seat as he continued wrestling with the steering.

"The town's submerged!" Gordon exclaimed. "We've got to hurry!"

"We're going as fast as we can," Virgil replied. "We'll be there in, um…"

"We don't need a precise report," Alan told him. "Roughly?"

"Roughly, we're there. The lower part of the town is submerged beneath us."

"Was anyone there?" John asked Scott.

"I don't know. I don't think so. They won't have had much of a chance if they were…"

---F-A-B---

"Can you 'ear somethin', Madam?" Parker asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "It sounds like running water. Perhaps the spouting has broken."

"H-If you'll h-excuse me, H-I'll take h-a look h-outside."

Brett's gun moved from Parker to Lady Penelope. "Oh, don't be ridiculous," she said.

Parker unlocked the outside door and was knocked backwards by a torrent of water. "Flood!" he coughed.

Lady Penelope found herself forced up against the table and managed to climb onto its wooden surface. Brett was pushed off his feet and fell, choking, into the water. As he tried to regain his footing he dropped the gun.

"Are you all right, Parker?" Lady Penelope called.

"I'm h-okay," he responded. "We've gotta get out of 'ere."

"The back door! Quick!" Lady Penelope slithered across the table, ignoring Angus Brett. She tried to pull it open, but the force of the water knocked her feet out from under her again. "Help me, Parker."

Parker braced one foot against the door frame and together they pulled. They managed to open the door as a stool floated past. Lady Penelope nudged it into the gap, jamming the door open. "Hurry," she commanded and stepped over the stool into the still rising floodwaters outside. Parker followed her.

Squeaking like the mouse he resembled, Brett stumbled to the door, deciding that it was safer to stick with his enemy than to remain inside a rapidly filling building. "Wait for me!"

"We need to get 'igher!" Parker exclaimed, looking about him. "We can climb h-up that!" He pointed to a fire escape that hung, out of reach, above them. "'Ere…" he grabbed a barrel and held it steady beneath the ladder. "Climb h-up, m'Lady. Use me knee."

Lady Penelope stepped on his bent leg and then climbed onto the barrel. "Up you get, Parker." With her assistance, Parker did as he was ordered, and clambered onto the barrel. Together they stood precariously as the waters rushed past.

"What about me?" Brett screamed.

"'Scuse me, Ma'am." Parker grasped Lady Penelope about the waist and lifted her so she was able to grab the fire escape.

Lady Penelope climbed until she had a solid grip of the ladder. "Now you, Parker." She reached down. He jumped and the barrel was swept away as he made contact with a rung. Lady Penelope grabbed his arm and pulled; helping him reach the relative safety of the ladder.

"You can't leave me!" Brett begged, as he clung to a support beam and the water swirled around his chest. "Help me!"

"I suppose we'd better," Lady Penelope sighed.

Threading his leg through the ladder so he was held securely and with Lady Penelope keeping a grip on his belt, Parker removed his sturdy jacket and wrapped a sleeve around his wrist and hand. He bent down so the other sleeve was dangling down. "Grab this!"

Brett made an ineffectual grab. "I can't," he sobbed.

"You gotta climb!" Parker ordered. "Climb the post!"

Fear giving him a strength he didn't know he had, Brett climbed. He reached the balcony railing and managed to stand on it as he reached out for the jacket. "Swing it!"

Parker swung the jacket and Brett managed to grab the sleeve. "Pull!"

"Climb!" Parker rejoined.

Brett clambered further up the post, pulled in part by Parker. The noise of continuously moving water masked the sounds of tearing stitches and Parker's groans.

Brett's slippery fingers closed about the bottom rung of the ladder…

---F-A-B---

The water in his cell was still rising and Jeff tried to ignore the pain in his leg as the cold water wrapped its tendrils about it.

It was up to his knees now: and still rising.

The shelf in the corner of his room didn't look strong enough to hold his weight, but he took a chance; managing to clamber onto it.

And still the water rose.

As it lapped at the base of the shelf, Jeff stood; bracing himself against the wall.

The water climbed over his feet.

He stood on tip-toe as an island of newspapers floated past.

Once again the cold water licked at his wounded leg. He raised it so he was standing on the other, trying to maintain his balance.

There was a surge and Jeff was knocked backwards; scrabbling with his hands on the smooth wall and both feet on the shelf as he fought to keep his head above water.

He knew shouting for help was useless.

The water was at his chest when the shelf finally gave way; plunging him, spluttering and gasping for air, into the water. Fighting the waves that washed over his head he tried to tread water; his injured limb nearly useless.

Jeff felt something bump against his head and realised that the ceiling was pressing down on him. He gasped like a goldfish in the ever decreasing air pocket.

There was another surge and everything swirled about him. He was dashed against the wall, the ceiling, another wall…

He was tired. He was dizzy. He was in pain. He needed air…

Jeff Tracy sank into darkness…

_To be continued…_

_Well... Maybe I am nearly as evil as Mousetopheles._

_ See you Tuesday._

_FAB_

_Purupuss  
_


	17. Recovery

**17 Seventeen: Recovery**

"Water level's dropping," Gordon reported.

"The rain's eased off too," Scott added. He looked at his watch. "It's after sunset. We're going to be working in the dark."

"We're on the road," Virgil reported. "I think…" There was a bump as the Duck made contact with solid ground and the pontoons retracted back into their housings.

A building loomed out of the darkness. "Looks like the fire station," Scott commented. "Park by the door, Virg. It'll be a good marshalling area."

The Duck halted outside the double doors of the station. The power of the flood waters had forced them open and scoured it empty.

"Right!" Scott turned back to his brothers. "Before we go out there I want everyone to check their guns." He un-holstered his own. "Make sure you've got the knock-out cartridge installed and primed. We don't know who's out there." He replaced his gun. "This could be a rescue operation, or it could be a body recovery. We've got to cover as much ground as we can so we'll split up. Alan: you go east. John: west. Gordon: north. I'll take the south. Virgil…" he turned back to his brother who was still seated in the driver's seat. "You stay here as back up. You can bring out the stretchers if we need them."

"F-A-B."

"Check your radios and victim locators too. All systems green?"

There were four replies in the affirmative before they each slung a rescue pack onto their backs and climbed down out of the Duck. Torches prying into the darkness, they set off in their appointed directions.

---F-A-B---

"The rain h-appears to 'ave stopped, m'Lady."

"Thank heavens for that, Parker. It is quite distasteful to have water continuously running down one's neck."

Brett was curled up in a bedraggled ball. "What do we do now?" he sobbed.

"How high did the water get, Parker?" Lady Penelope asked.

Parker crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down to where they'd climbed up. The fire escape had been swept away in the flood waters. "'Igh enough that we've lost the ladder. We can't get down that way."

"Oh, dear. What a shame."

Brett curled up in an even tighter ball.

"H-I 'ate to say this," Parker made a quick calculation, "but h-if h-anyone was trapped h-inside h-any of them buildings…"

"Unfortunately that thought has crossed my mind. Where was Jeff being held, Mr Brett?"

"I told you. I don't know!" Brett whimpered.

"We will find him," Lady Penelope asserted as she stood up. Twisting one of the charms on her bracelet, a thin beam of light shot out into the darkness. "Perhaps there is another exit nearby. These roofs appear to be quite close. With any luck we can jump across to a building with a convenient exit."

"Jump!" Brett yelped. "I can't jump!"

Parker was growing sick of the solicitor's continued whining. "Well, stay 'ere then!" Treading carefully he walked over so he was standing beside Lady Penelope. "You're right. They h-are close. H-And that one's got h-a verandah. We could jump down from that!"

"The problem is that we don't know how sturdy any of these roofs are," Lady Penelope mused. "I should be most disappointed to jump on one and fall through to the ground below."

"Fallin's not part of me plan," Parker stated. "H-Allow me to go first, m'Lady." He chose a spot and launched himself across the gap, landing in a skidding roll. "H-It's safe!" he called back.

Trusting his judgement Lady Penelope followed his lead; landing safely. Then she turned back to the original building. "Are you coming, Mr Brett?"

"Do I have to?"

"No. Not if you'd rather spend the night alone in the cold and wet."

Brett hovered on the edge of the building. "It's a long way."

"H-It'll be h-a long night h-if you stay there," Parker told him.

Brett didn't like the idea of spending a chilly night on a damp roof. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Don't forget to roll when you land," Lady Penelope advised him.

Brett took a deep breath and jumped. He landed on the roof in a painful heap. "That hurt!" he yelped.

He was ignored as Lady Penelope and Parker walked to the edge of the roof. "Look," Parker pointed. "There's h-a light comin' from that building."

Lady Penelope nodded her approval. "Then that's where we're going. I'm not leaving this town until we've retrieved Jeff Tracy… however he is…"

---F-A-B---

The beam from his torch piercing the darkness, John trod with care as he negotiated the puddles and mud piles. Like most floods he'd attended there was debris everywhere. Roofing iron had been dragged down and lay stacked in untidy heaps against buildings. Park benches now resided in trees, most of which had been denuded of their leaves. Normally he would have been yelling for survivors, but the potential threat from the person or persons who had laid out three large men, forced him to keep a silent vigil as he traversed the streets.

John pushed open the door to what had formerly been a bookstore and peered inside. The shop was silent and empty. A check of the ground floor rooms with a victim locator revealed no signs of life, while a visual inspection showed no signs of death. The flat upstairs was similarly vacant. He exited the building the same way he'd entered and marked the door so that no one would waste time checking it again later.

He continued walking along the street.

In the shadows at the end of the road he thought he saw something move. He froze, straining his eyes in the darkness as his torch beam and victim locator searched out the source of the movement. Then he saw it again.

There were a pair of legs lying in the mud. The associated torso was hidden by the shadows.

He raced over to the victim, talking into his radio as he ran. "Virgil! I've found someone! Follow my signal! Bring the stretcher!"

"F-A-B."

John reached his goal and knelt beside the victim, swinging his rescue pack around so he could reach into it. "I'm from International Rescue. What's your name?" he asked automatically as he pulled a medical scanner out of the pack and began getting a reading of the man's injuries.

"If you don't know that then I must look worse than I thought."

John froze at the voice; his mind trying to take in what had just been said. The scanner slipped from his suddenly numb fingers. Then, still trying to comprehend the situation, he shone his torch onto the face of the man who had spoken. A pair of brown, almost black, eyes blinked back at him before a hand was raised to shield them from the glare. "Can you shift your torch, John? It's a bit bright."

John dropped the torch. He was still in a daze when Virgil ran over to him and started setting up a stretcher. Fixated on the injured man, still unable to believe what he was seeing, John began tugging at his brother's sleeve.

"What is it, John?" Virgil asked; engrossed in untangling what was proving to be a stubborn piece of equipment.

John managed to drag his eyes away from the victim to look at his younger brother. He tugged at Virgil's sleeve again; speech having deserted him.

"John?" Virgil finally looked at him. "John? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

The statement was too much for John. Much to Virgil's consternation he started laughing – Laughter that bordered on the hysterical.

"John?!" Virgil repeated, now very concerned.

"I think you said the wrong thing, Virgil."

Virgil's head snapped around to the figure on the ground and his eyes widened. "Father?"

"Yes, Son."

"I don't believe it… John! It's Father! He's alive! He's here! He's…" Virgil looked back at Jeff. "You need a shave."

"I know. I need a lot of things at the moment. Like a long hot bath and one of Grandma's meals."

"Are you hurt?" Virgil picked up John's scanner and checked its reading.

"I've got a small cut on my leg and one or two bruises, but apart from that I'm fine."

Virgil grunted as the scanner told him the truth. "Hang on until I've got this stretcher set up, then we'll get you back to the Duck."

"No," Jeff protested as he struggled to sit up. "I don't need the stretcher. I'll lean on the pair of you."

"But, Father…"

John had managed to get his laughter under control. "Don't be silly, Dad."

"I'm not being silly. I don't need a stretcher."

"I found you lying on the muddy ground, with a cut that's more than 'small'," John gingerly looked under the tattered remains of Jeff's trouser leg, "and you're saying you don't need a stretcher?" He dove into his first aid kit and started cleaning the wound.

"No, I don't!"

John frowned. "You are going to be carried back to the Duck on that stretcher!"

"Don't tell me what to do, young man! I am going to walk back to the Duck."

"Dad…"

"Father…"

Jeff brushed aside their concerns. "How is Alan?"

"Alan!" John was placing a temporary bandage on his father's wound to keep it clean. "Virg! We've got to tell everyone!"

"Yeah. But, whatever we do, we can't tell Gordon last. He'd never forgive us this time!"

"If we don't let Scott know straight away our lives won't be worth living."

"And Alan deserves to be the first to be told."

"How is Alan?" Jeff pressed.

"I know!" John stood and stepped backwards. "Finish fixing up his leg, Virgil. I'll radio everyone… Now you'll see some real acting." He raised his handset and when he next spoke he sounded concerned rather than gleeful. "John calling…. We've got an uncooperative victim here and we need everyone's assistance. Repeat. We need everyone STAT!"

"Scott here. What's the situation, John?"

"You're not going to believe it, Scott. We need you here now. We need everyone. The full team!"

Scott signed off with a "F-A-B."

"I'm not being uncooperative," Jeff protested and grimaced as Virgil finished the bandaging. "I just don't need a stretcher… How's Alan, Virgil?"

"Fine. John, can you imagine everyone's faces when they see him?"

"Well, I don't want them to see me lying in the mud," Jeff stated. "Help me up, Boys." His sons hesitated. "John! Virgil! Help me up!" he ordered, and tried to rise.

"Even dead he's as stubborn as a mule," John muttered as he and Virgil helped their father to his feet.

"I heard that. I'm neither dead nor deaf." Jeff placed his arms around his sons' shoulders. "There, see… Not a problem. Let's go."

There was the sound of hurried footsteps through the mud and puddles. Gordon ran into view splattered from head to toe in mud. "What's the problem?"

"We needed someone to carry the stretcher," Virgil informed him.

"Huh? You called all of us just for that?"

"No. Not **just** for that," John corrected him. "I told you we had an uncooperative victim."

Gordon looked at the man in question, unrecognisable in the darkness and covered by a week's worth of whiskers. He didn't look particularly uncooperative.

"Hello, Son."

Gordon blanched. "Huh?"

"It's great to see you again."

"Dad?"

"Yes."

"You are alive!" Gordon's made an abortive gesture; as if he wanted to get closer to his father, but was frightened of hurting him further.

"Reports of my death have been grossly exaggerated." Jeff released his grip on John and held his hand out to Gordon.

Gordon grasped his father's hand; stepping closer. "Don't think that a handshake will be enough, Dad. Once we're all cleaned up you're getting a hug."

Jeff gave his son's hand a warm squeeze. "I'll hold you to that."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"He's covered in bruises and has a gash on his leg I want to check out," John amended. "We want to get him back to the Duck A.S.A.P."

"He refuses to use the stretcher," Virgil added.

"What! Dad… Don't be silly."

"I don't need the stretcher! I'm perfectly all right."

"Can you grab my pack, Gordon?" John asked.

"Yep… Unless you'd rather I took over from you as his support?"

"No thanks," John smiled. "We're quite comfortable."

"Aww." Gordon grin broadened and he grabbed the stretcher and pack. "Let's get going. Maybe I'll actually be able to recognise you when I can see you, Dad. Say something, I want to hear your voice."

"Let's get back to the Duck. I want to be able to see you all too." Jeff took a shuffling step forwards.

They were half way down the street when the sound of someone running heralded Scott's arrival. The darkness of the night was obscuring obstacles in the road and he missed seeing a piece of wood, tripped, and ended up sprawled in the mud in front of them.

"No need to kiss his feet, Scott," Gordon quipped. "He knows you're pleased to see him."

Scott stood; his face burning. "It's hard to see anything in this ligh…" he began… and stopped. Clearly there was enough light to make out exactly who was standing before him. "Da…"

Jeff smiled. "Hello, Scott."

"Father?"

"Yes."

"What? How? When? How…?" Scott's supply of inarticulate questions dried up as his brain got back into gear. "I don't believe it…" he breathed. "Father… Heck, it's good to see you! We thought you were dead!"

"I know."

Scott finally recovered his wits enough to take in the situation. "Why isn't he on the stretcher?"

"He refused it," Virgil informed him.

"I don't need a stretcher!" Jeff protested.

"Told you he was uncooperative," John smirked.

"Where's Alan?" Jeff asked.

"He went east," Scott said. "He can't be too far away."

The fire station was in sight when Alan finally appeared. He stopped when he saw the party before him. In the light from the Duck he could clearly identify the man supported between his brothers. "Dad!"

"Alan!" Jeff released his grip on John's shoulders and reached out to his youngest son.

Alan ran forward. Just as if he was still a fourteen year old boy in shock after crashing his friend's car, he wrapped his arms around his father and held him tight. "Dad," he breathed. "I can't believe it. You're here."

Jeff returned Alan's hug in equal measure, ignoring the complaints from his bruised body. "Are you all right, Son? They didn't hurt you again, did they?" He pushed Alan away slightly so he could see him.

"No, they took me back to Mobile Control. Are you all right, Dad? They didn't hurt you any more, did they?"

Jeff put his hand to the side of Alan's face. "No. I'm fine. Now that I know you're okay I couldn't be better. How's the head?"

Alan grinned. "Fine. You know me. I'm as thick as two planks and as hard to break. Though these guys did their best to make me think that it was a little bit cracked." His brothers shifted; discomforted by the reminder.

"They didn't believe you?" Jeff guessed.

"No. That's what your kidnappers were counting on."

"I figured as much."

"Fortunately Alan convinced Penny to at least give him the benefit of the doubt," Scott explained. "She and Parker found Ma's ring. After that we had no choice but to believe him."

"Alan has a lot of favours owing to him," Virgil said. "Starting with me taking his next shift on Thunderbird Five."

"You don't have to, Virg," Alan protested.

"Yes, I do. A deal is a deal."

"We all owe you, Alan," Scott admitted. "Big time."

"Have you still got your neck chain, Dad?" John asked.

"I'm still wearing it. I was hoping I wouldn't have to leave that somewhere as well."

Gordon grinned. "You can reunite it with Ma's ring once you're home."

"Good." Jeff was obviously relieved. "I was worried that no one would ever find it; or that if they did, they wouldn't know its significance. I must remember to thank Penny and Parker."

"Penny's going to be annoyed that she's not the one who found you," Alan told him. "They're on Mousetopheles' tail at the moment."

"Mousetopheles?"

"Angus Brett," Scott clarified. "It's something Virgil and John came up with."

"Ah" Jeff said. "I thought he might have been behind all this."

Scott frowned. "Penny was supposed to keep us informed of what she was doing. We haven't heard from them in hours."

"She may have radioed base," John suggested.

"I'm sure Lady Penelope can look after herself," Jeff reassured them. "You can give her a call once we're in the Duck." He looked at his five sons. "I've missed you boys. You don't know how much…" He sighed as the emotions of the moment threatened to overwhelm him. "Come here, Alan," he put one arm around Alan's shoulders. "You too, Gordon. You can help me inside."

"I can do that!" Scott offered.

"You can help later. You and John are a fraction too tall."

"You can only blame yourself for giving us all your tall genes," John responded. "You left nothing for the runts." He received three indignant replies from his younger brothers.

Leaning heavily on his two sons, Jeff began shuffling towards the warm light of the fire station's interior. "How's Grandma?"

"She's brightened up a lot since she realised that you might still be alive," Scott told him.

"And Tin-Tin and Kyrano? And Brains?"

"Worried sick about you. Brains has been blaming himself for the jet's crash."

"So Alan told me."

"Did I? I can't remember. Things are a bit hazy," Alan admitted.

"You also told me that you were having to sell the island. That wasn't true was it?"

"We had the Thunderbirds wired up for demolition," Gordon told him. "Even Thunderbird Four."

"Because you though I was in debt?"

"Mousetopheles told us you owed this huge amount of money, and that the five of us were the only ones mentioned in your will, and we believed him…," Virgil explained. "We were in shock," he added apologetically.

"And when he told us that he had a buyer for the island and that selling it would be the solution to our problems, we fell for it hook, line and sinker," Scott added. "We thought that if we didn't have the debts we might be able to support Grandma, Kyrano, Tin-Tin and Brains, and be able move on ourselves. I didn't think to confirm his story."

"None of us did," Virgil reminded his brother.

"I read the will that Mousetopheles presented to us, and that was it." Scott's good mood was vanishing as he recollected the past week. "It was dated the day of your crash and it never dawned on me that it could be a forgery. Not until Penny showed us Ma's ring."

"I did make a new will that day," Jeff confirmed. "But it was with Walker and Crawford. I went to see Brett to tell him I was removing all my business from him and that I was handing certain information over to the police…"

"Evidence found by Mr Spencer that Mousetopheles had embezzled your money?" John asked.

Jeff looked at him. "Did Penny discover that?"

"Once I'd remembered who Mr Spencer could have been, yes."

A light drizzle started to fall.

"Come on," Scott instructed. "We can discuss this once you've been checked over by a doctor…"

"I don't need a doctor," Jeff protested. "Brains can look at my leg when we get home!"

"Brains is in Kansas," Alan told him. "He's been helping the A.A.I. find out why you'd crashed your plane."

"And the police are going to want to interview you over what happened," Gordon added.

"They can fly out to my island," Jeff insisted. "I'll arrange their flight. I just want to go home."

---F-A-B---

Lady Penelope and Parker had reached the one building that seemed to be filled with the light of life; instead of the stygian gloom that characterised the others.

Hoping that they had found what they were looking for, Lady Penelope peered cautiously through a grimy window. "It appears to have been the local fire station in a past life. I think it is deserted."

"Where's the light comin' from?" Parker asked.

"There is a torch in the corner… and something is casting a light from outside the building. We shall investigate, and, if the fates are smiling on us, we shall find Jeff." Her senses on full alert, Lady Penelope stepped inside…

…Just as the Tracy family entered the station.

Apart from a muted, "stone the crows!" from Parker, everyone froze; staring at each other in a disbelieving silence.

Lady Penelope was the first to find her voice. "Jeff!?"

"Penny!"

"How are you, Jeff dear?" She moved closer.

"Nothing wrong with me. And you're looking as lovely as ever."

Lady Penelope pushed a damp muddy curl off her face, and eyed him, still propped up between two sons. "I don't know what your kidnappers have done to you, Jeff Tracy. You always used to be an honest man."

Jeff chuckled. "How are you, Parker?"

Parker was still looking a little dazed. "Uh… F-Fine, uh, Mr Tracy! You're lookin'… Well…" he rubbed his nose.

"I understand I have a lot to thank you both for."

"It looks as though your sons have done the hard work," Lady Penelope replied.

"We struck it lucky," Scott explained. "We were called out to evacuate a town downstream. They asked me to pick up a guy up at the dam up the river and Thunderbird One's scanners picked up four people in this town. So the five of us came up here in Thunderbird Two to rescue them…" He frowned. "Assuming that you account for three of our targets…" his frown deepened. "Who was the fourth?"

"I think, Scott," a figure stepped out of the shadows, "you might find that that fourth person was me…"

It was Angus Brett.

_To be continued…_


	18. Ransom

**18 Eighteen: Ransom**

"How nice," Angus Brett sneered. "A real family reunion." He looked at each of them in turn. "And how kind of you all to confirm my suspicions. So the altruistic Tracy family IS International Rescue… There's nothing like seeing the truth with your own eyes. Isn't that right, Alan?"

"It's no good if no one believes you," Alan snarled.

Brett gave a sardonic grin. "I thought it was a little odd when five nauseatingly intelligent and gifted young men suddenly decided to waste their lives away on a tropical paradise." He turned to the one man in the group not in uniform. "And how are you, Jeff? I must say that you are looking a darn sight healthier than one might have expected from a dead man."

"Why, Angus?" Jeff asked. "Why did you put us all through this?"

"Why? Why does anyone do anything in this world? Anyone except for Jeff Tracy and his kin, who have more than their fair share. Money of course."

"Money for you or for someone else?"

"Like a Mr Earl?" Lady Penelope added.

"What is she?" Brett asked. "Some kind of spy?"

"The best kind," Gordon jeered. "She never fell for your tricks."

"She might have never trusted me, Gordon, but I think I pulled the wool over your eyes quite nicely. I had you all eating out of the palm of my hand, didn't I?" Brett laughed as he taunted the Tracys. "_Oh dear! All this money we owe. Whatever shall we do? Mr Brett, how can we ever thank you for finding the solution to our problem?_ Not as clever as we thought we were, were we, Gentlemen…?"

"We did return the favour," John informed him. "There was never any evidence that Dad was murdered. It was all part of Penny's trap to catch you."

"And thank you for falling in quite nicely," Lady Penelope added. "You made it deliciously easy."

"What are you?" Brett asked and was infuriated by her enigmatic smile. He rounded on Jeff Tracy. "You," he pointed at the injured man, "would never have been hurt if you hadn't kicked out when Miles and that engineer grabbed you. He told me you cut yourself on the door of the plane. A stupid thing to do and you're paying for it now, aren't you? If everything had gone to plan, no one would have been hurt and everyone would have been happy. My associates would have got the island legally and Jeff Tracy would have been found 'washed up' on the beach: alive. A miracle!"

Jeff barked out a laugh. "I was to be washed up on a beach? Unhurt? Do you honestly think that they would have let me go free?"

"Yes, I do."

"If you think that then you're not only a criminal. You are also a fool."

"They promised me the satisfaction of seeing your face when you discovered that your precious sons had sold your home without your knowledge. They promised me that no one would die."

"And you actually believed that these are the kind of people who keep their promises?" Jeff asked. "Think, Brett. You were being taken for a ride as much as we were. I'm betting that once they'd got all they could from you, you and I would have ended up at the bottom of a river together."

"No! I had insurance, you see. I knew who International Rescue was," Brett bluffed. "And I've kept our little secret because I knew that when the time came that I needed to reveal your true identities, I could sell the information to the highest bidder." His eyes narrowed. "I think that time has arrived."

"No sale," Jeff said.

"We shall see," Brett made an angry gesture. "All these years I've acted on your behalf, while, in reality, I've been doing a different sort of acting. All these years I've pretended to be your friend; pretended to be glad to do your bidding. Were you aware that you were in the presence of acting greatness…? No, of course you weren't. A great actor has the ability to convince his audience that he is not acting. And I had it in me to be one of the best! I could have won all the awards. Oscars, Emmys, Tonys; you name it; I could have won it… If I'd been given the opportunity…" He sounded bitter.

"No one wanted you, eh?" Parker felt no shame in having a little dig at the man's expense. "They didn't think you were good h-enough, did they?"

"Oh, they thought I was good enough all right. But I was only good enough for the fool, not the romantic or dramatic lead… I could have played the great roles. I could have been Lear. I could have been Macbeth! I should have been 'Oberon' in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'; instead I was cast as 'Bottom'. I was 'Mercutio' when I should have been 'Romeo'. If they'd given me the chance I would have shown them."

"Romeo!" Gordon couldn't help laughing at the mental image. "I would imagine that after you showed them your 'Bottom' they wouldn't have been able to stomach anything else."

"Very droll, Gordon. Nearly as entertaining as watching you all descend into pathetic shadows of yourselves. I'm right, aren't I, Boys? You thought you'd lost everything when your father died, didn't you? And I'm not only talking about the vast fortune that you'd all assumed was yours. You've no idea how much fun I've had watching you all squirm. You should have seen them, Jeff, grieving for the father that I knew wasn't dead. It was quite touching."

"You're the one who's touched," Alan growled.

"They thought you were for a time, didn't they, Alan? They all believed that there was no way that your father could be alive. They thought that you had lost your mind; either from grief or the blow to your head." Brett thought for a moment. "What a shame Miles didn't hit you harder…"

"Why you…!" Scott had taken two steps forward before he was restrained by Virgil and John.

Brett laughed. "You'd like to hit me, wouldn't you, Scott. But I don't think that would be a good idea…"

"Sounds like a brilliant idea to me," Scott growled.

"And disappoint your father? I thought it was International Rescue's creed to help people, not harm them… What happened to that nice little boy I used to know?"

"Maybe that 'nice little boy' died when you pretended to kill his father!" Scott glared at Brett.

"Don't give him the satisfaction, Scott," Jeff said quietly.

Scott shook himself free of his brothers' grasp. He turned and walked away.

"Still under Daddy's thumb are we?" Brett jeered.

Scott turned back. "No. But I respect him as my father, a man, and my friend. Has anyone respected you in that way?"

Brett was silent.

"No," Scott said. "I thought not." He retreated so he was standing behind Jeff and placed a hand on his father's shoulder.

Brett attempted to regain his bravado. "Such loyalty…! You must be so proud of them all, Jeff. And of course you yourself would feel the compulsion to protect them too. Would you believe that that idiot Miles thought that you were gay? What he saw, when you were comforting Alan, was some pervert trying to take advantage of a vulnerable member of International Rescue. What he didn't realise that your actions were much more innocent… but much more damaging. He didn't imagine that it could have been a father protecting his son." He sneered. "I haven't enlightened him… yet…"

"Did you enjoy dealing with murderers?" John asked. "You're an accessory. Do you realise that?"

"Murder? I can't be blamed for your father's death; because he's not dead."

"I wasn't talking about that. I'm talking about all those people who died when the jet crashed. The authorities are going to regard that as murder: pure and simple."

For a brief moment a crack appeared in Brett's brash veneer. "That was unfortunate and unplanned for. The plane was supposed to crash into the Pacific Ocean. I am sorry."

"Try telling that to those who were injured," Gordon said. "At your trial, try telling the families of those that died."

"Trial? My dear, Gordon, what makes you think I'll be going to trial?"

"The fact that we've got you cornered," Gordon said triumphantly. "There're more of us."

"Physically you may hold an advantage," Brett agreed. "But I hold the upper hand."

"How?" Alan asked. He tightened his grip on his father who appeared to be getting heavier.

Brett's face creased into a leer. "What do you think the public will be more excited about? The great Jeff Tracy," he gave an ironic bow in Jeff's direction, "rising from the dead, or… the discovery of the true identities of the heroes of International Rescue?"

For the first time the Tracys seemed uneasy with the situation.

"So you're adding bribery to your list of criminal activities, are you?" Virgil asked.

"Bribery? Such an ugly word, Virgil. I would prefer to think of this being a transaction between gentlemen… and a lady," Brett added, nodding towards Lady Penelope.

"No deal, Brett," Scott snarled.

"We'll tell the public you're lying," Gordon said stubbornly. "They're more likely to believe us than a murderer."

"Maybe," Brett agreed. "But the seed will have been planted. From that moment on the world will be watching you. How will you like living your lives under the microscope? Will International Rescue be able to continue?"

"You're a hypocrite," Virgil snapped. "You go on about not wanting to hurt anyone, and then in the next breath you threaten to put International Rescue out of existence."

"Not that some sleazy crook's going to stop us," John asserted.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Now, I'm not asking for much, Jeff. An annual pension of several million dollars for the rest of my life should do it. Indexed to inflation of course. We'll start a couple of million up front, that'll solve my immediate problem, and then we can work out the details later."

"You're sick," John said.

"Yes I am. I'm sick of being a nobody and having nothing. I was sick of having a wife that didn't love me and a son that didn't care…"

"And who was willing to turn his own father over to the police?" Lady Penelope queried.

"What is she?" Brett asked again. When no one answered he continued his monologue. "I was sick of my state of affairs and the way that others flaunted theirs…"

"Meaning me?" Jeff asked.

"Yes you!" Brett spat. "You, and your money, and your perfect family. I was only good enough for preparing your will, while you left all your major transactions to those big city lawyers. Rubbing my nose in these bequests that were going to go to all sorts of 'worthy' causes, while I was struggling to have two cents to rub together."

"'E loves 'is clichays, don't 'e," Parker whispered to Virgil.

"So you ripped off those who had even less than you," Lady Penelope accused Brett.

"Serves them right; stupid trusting fools," Brett snapped. He took a breath. "Once in a while, I'd be cruising along, quite pleased with myself, thinking that life wasn't too bad, and then I'd pick up a paper and read that Jeff Tracy had set foot onto the moon; Jeff Tracy was running a successful business; Jeff Tracy was a billionaire. And not only Jeff Tracy: I had to deal with five miniatures as well; winning car races, Olympic golds, art awards, discovering stars, being awarded military honours… But there was one day, one glorious day when I picked up the paper and I saw something wonderful! And do you know what that was, Jeff? Do you?!"

Jeff Tracy said nothing.

"I saw your perfect life unravel. I saw your world fall apart! And it was the happiest day of my life! It was the day your precious wife was killed! I danced, Jeff. I sang! I laughed at your misery. And when you came in to hear Lucille's will, I was so proud of myself. _I'm so sorry, Jeff. It's a tragic loss, Jeff. Please accept my sincere condolences, Jeff. _It was my greatest acting triumph!"

The Tracys' mood changed. Gordon and Alan felt Jeff regain some of his strength as anger surged through his system. Scott clenched his fists tightly and ordered himself to keep calm. John's scarlet flush didn't quite reach his ears; though it came close. Virgil heard someone count to ten and realised that the voice was in his own mind. Gordon could almost feel his blood pressure rising and Alan was fighting a battle with his temper. Only their father's weight about their shoulders stopped the two youngest from striking at the taunting man. Lady Penelope and Parker noticed the change in their friends and readied themselves for action.

There was an air of hatred in the fire station.

Somehow Brett appeared to be unaware of it. "So… Back to our contract. I've told you my terms, Jeff. In return I won't tell a soul the identity of International Rescue. Deny me and I'll stand on the steps of the court house and hold a press conference. I will tell the world!" he crowed. "Is it a deal?" He rubbed his hands together. "I can't wait to see your fabulous Thunderbirds."

Everyone waited for International Rescue's commander to make his decision.

Jeff Tracy didn't take long. "We won't be held to ransom by a criminal," he stated. "Hand him over to the police, Penny. We'll take our chances."

"Here," Scott withdrew his gun from its holster and handed it to the aristocrat. "If he tries anything, don't be afraid to use it."

"It would give me great pleasure, Dear Boy." She took the gun and pointed it at Mousetopheles. Brett couldn't help but notice how comfortably it sat in her hand.

"What are you?" he asked again.

"Ta, Mister John," Parker accepted John's weapon.

"There's a storage locker at the back of the Duck," Virgil said. "We can lock him in there until we hand him over to the police."

"Good idea, Virgil," Scott said. "Say, Penny, you didn't have anything to do with those three guys I found unconscious on the road, did you?"

"Parker and I had dealings with them, yes."

"Was this Miles guy one of them?"

"He was the largest of the three," Lady Penelope confirmed.

"H-And the ugliest," Parker added.

"I don't feel so bad now," Scott remembered. "I had to take him back to the evacuation area in one of Thunderbird One's lockers. It's only fair that Brett should suffer the same fate. Show Penny where it is, will you, Virg?"

Gordon felt Jeff lean against him. "Scott!" he hissed.

"You can't do this to me!" Brett objected. "I am the key to your future security!" He was still complaining as he was lead at gun-point into the Duck.

"John!" Scott commanded. "Get the stretcher!"

"I – don't need – a stretcher," Jeff protested; but he made no complaint as he was assisted onto it.

Scott leant over him. "Are you okay?"

Jeff grasped his eldest's hand and gave it a warm squeeze. "I'm fine."

---F-A-B---

Virgil glared at Brett as he held open the door to the locker. "Inside!" he ordered.

"Virgil…" Brett was about to protest again when he felt Lady Penelope's gun press into his back. Miserably he did as he was instructed.

"Think h-of h-it h-as a taste h-of what's to come," Parker suggested. "H-I h-always found h-it best to not think h-about the world h-outside. Much better to take each day h-at h-a time." He grinned. "H-If you run h-into h-a chap called 'Yorkie' Entwhistle, tell 'im 'Nosey' sends 'is best."

Brett stared at him. "Who are you two?"

"Here," Virgil picked up a bucket and threw it at the dejected man. "You'll need that. Use it or else you'll be the one cleaning up."

"But…" The door was slammed in Brett's face. He heard the lock snip home. "You can't do this to me! I'm an American citizen!"

"H-And we're H-English," Parker taunted. "H-It's nice to 'ave pride in where you come from, innit?"

Lady Penelope ignored their hostage's rantings and looked at the gun in her hand. "This is the knockout cartridge, isn't it?"

"Yes," Virgil confirmed.

"Pity."

"Where's FAB1, Parker?" Virgil asked.

"We left h-it down the road. H-I 'ope h-it 'asn't floated h-away."

"FAB1?" Virgil exclaimed. "She must weight three ton! We'll drop you off there and you can drive her up to Thunderbird Two. She should fit into the pod easily."

"Thank you, Mister Virgil."

"But I'll warn you both, the Duck's not as well appointed as the Rolls Royce. This won't be a comfortable trip." Virgil looked grimly at the locked door. "I'll make sure of that."

"Thank you for your concern, Virgil," Lady Penelope said. "We shall be quite all right."

"Well, make sure you're buckled up," he warned and headed back to the Duck's driving seat.

The others had got Jeff safely strapped into one of the first aid bays. "You're going to have the most comfortable ride of all of us," Gordon grinned at his father. "Want to swap places?"

"Why?" Jeff's eyes were growing heavy. "I thought you had a cast iron stomach?"

Scott looked down on his father and found the idea of ever leaving him again unpalatable. "How'd you like the pleasure of flying Thunderbird One home, John?"

"So you can sit here with Dad? No, thanks, Scott."

"How about you, Alan? You're always at me to give you more time in her."

"Not this time."

"Uh…" Scott turned his attention to Gordon.

The look on his brother's face said it all.

Scott sighed. "I suppose it won't be long before I'll be heading up to Thunderbird Five, so I suppose I'd better get used to not being around him." He pulled John away from the first aid bay so they could talk freely. "I want you to be the liaison with the authorities. Once they know that Jeff Tracy's still alive we might get a visit from the police top brass and I could be recognised as Scott Tracy."

"Okay, Scott. I can handle that."

Scott grinned. "If you were able to fool 'one of the greatest actors that ever lived', you should be able to."

John returned his brother's grin with a bow. "I would like to thank the academy and my family… I'll go call the police and the hospital now."

"Thanks, John."

After a quick check on his father, John braced himself against the Duck's ungainly movement as he headed up to the communications area. "I'm going to call the authorities, Virgil," he whispered.

"Okay," Virgil replied. "How is he?"

"Sound asleep. He dropped off almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. It must be the first time he's been able to relax in days."

"Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I'll say," John glanced back down the Duck to where his brothers were huddling around the stretcher. "It's like a miracle," he said as he activated the radio.

"International Rescue! Thank heavens!" an anxious voice on the other end of the radio said. "We were beginning to get worried about you."

"We're all fine and we've got some extra passengers…" John paused a moment as he thought how to phrase the next bit. "You're not going to believe this, but we've got a man on board who says he's Jeff Tracy, the billionaire."

"Huh?" The local's response confirmed John's assessment. "But he died in a plane crash."

"We thought so too. We were the ones who found his plane's registration number. But, the odd thing is, we think he's telling the truth."

"What!"

"We've got another man who, along with those three men we picked up in Thunderbird One earlier, we believe was involved in the plot to kidnap Mr Tracy."

"You're kidding me!"

"I'm not," John confirmed. "Mr Tracy's injured so we'll head straight to the hospital. Can you have the police meet us there to take this other man into custody?"

"Uh, sure. How badly is 'Mr Tracy' hurt?"

"Extensive bruising and minor cuts, plus one fairly major gash to his lower right leg, just above the ankle. He says he did that when he was kidnapped."

"Okay. I'll let the appropriate authorities know. Thank you."

"No, thank you," John said. "International Rescue out."

A short time later Virgil stopped the Duck and beckoned Parker down to the front. "I think FAB1's out there somewhere."

Parker pushed the button on his keychain and the Rolls Royce's interior was illuminated as one of the gull-wing doors swung upwards.

"It's like a musical box opening up… you almost expect to see the ballerina," Virgil commented as he watched the display "I'm half expecting to hear 'Music Box Dancer'."

"H-I would prefer 'Fir Elsie'," Parker responded.

"'Fir Elsie'?" Virgil repeated. "Oh… Fur… I know what you mean… Are you okay following us?"

"Should be, Sir."

"Good. Sing out if you have any problems." Virgil waited until the chauffeur was safely ensconced in the car's driver's seat, before he set the Duck waddling forward again. Using the reversing camera and monitor, Parker followed, steering FAB1 backwards along the muddy, debris-strewn road towards Thunderbird Two.

The Duck was inside the pod when Scott made his next decision. "I want you three to make sure that the Duck is locked down, and help Parker with FAB1. Virgil and I will take Father up to the sickbay."

"Why us?" Alan protested. "Why don't you? We want to stay too, you know!"

"Because we'll be able to stay with Dad later," John reminded him. "They will have to fly the Thunderbirds home… Unless you want to fly Thunderbird One?"

"Come on, Alan," Gordon said. "The sooner we get it sorted the sooner we can get back to him."

Carefully carrying the stretcher between them, Scott and Virgil made their way to the sickbay and made sure their father was comfortable. Then they prepared the room for the trip to the hospital.

Scott glanced at the figure on the bed. "Hello, Sleeping Beauty's woken up!"

Jeff was looking between his two sons, a wry expression on his face. "Have you been stealing Scott's meals, Virgil?"

His sons reddened slightly. "You should have seen us a couple of days ago," Scott admitted. "Not eating, over-eating, not talking... We were a mess. You don't know how important you are to us all."

"I thought I'd brought you all up to be independent."

"And so you did," Virgil told him. "But you are important in our lives too. You're our lynch pin, our lodestar… Our father… We needed to know that you were there and when you weren't..."

"Like everything else, we fell apart," Scott finished.

---F-A-B---

Holding her gun, Lady Penelope pulled open the locker door.

Brett was sitting on the floor, hugging the empty bucket, but looking rather green. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing at the moment," she replied. "But the police have been alerted. They will be waiting for you."

"I mean what I said. I will hold a press conference. I will say that Jeff Tracy is the head of International Rescue! I will…"

Lady Penelope shut the locker door.

---F-A-B---

There was a knock on the sickbay door and Gordon entered. "We're done."

"We've left Brett in the Duck," Alan added. "No need for him to see any more than he already has."

"Penny and Parker will keep an eye on him until we turn him over to the police," John explained. "They'll stay hidden in Thunderbird Two until we can drop them off somewhere near FAB4."

"Sounds reasonable," Scott agreed. "Let's get moving, Virgil."

Virgil cast a wistful look his father's way. "Okay," he sighed.

"I'll come with you," Scott followed him out the door.

"You don't have to," Virgil said as they walked along Thunderbird Two's corridors towards the flight deck. "You can stay with him if you want."

"It's okay," Scott said. "I don't mind. Once we're home I don't plan to let him out of my sight for a long time." He noticed that Virgil didn't seem to be quite as upbeat as expected. "What's wrong?"

"I keep thinking how close we came to losing him for real. He could have been trapped in any of those submerged buildings during the flood… Or he could have been swept downstream by the floodwaters… Or we could have found him as we did and he could have serious injuries or been drowned or worse. I mean, I know how strong that river was! I was fighting it all the time I was piloting the Duck…"

"Whoa! Calm down, Virg!" Scott stopped so that he was standing in front of his brother. "Hey! Those aren't tears I can see are they, big guy?"

Virgil wiped his eyes and gave a sniff. "No."

"Oh." Scott gave an ironic grin. "That's a shame. I was hoping that I wasn't the only cry-baby in the team. You might at least have given me the opportunity to let you soak my shoulder this time."

Virgil managed a chuckle. "Maybe later."

"So why all the doom and gloom? He's okay?"

"I am happy really. I think it's just hit me all of a sudden; all the stresses of the last few days. Not knowing… I'm fine."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"To be perfectly honest, I'm feeling the total opposite," Scott admitted. "I feel as if the world's been lifted off my shoulders." His face lit up. "I want to dance! I want to sing…!"

"Please don't," Virgil begged. "Then I'd really have something to cry about."

Scott laughed. "I want to get on the radio and let the whole planet know that my father is alive! I want to shout it to the heavens! I want to…" He leapt into the air with a shout of pure joy and bounded down the hallway.

Laughing, Virgil followed him to the flight deck where he settled into the pilot's seat. "Virgil to the Duck. Are you both strapped in, Penny?"

"F. A. B, Virgil. Parker and I are quite comfortable."

"Good. Virgil to sickbay. Ready for take off?"

"We're all set, Virg," John responded. "Next stop Nevada State Hospital?"

"F-A-B."

"I don't need the hospital," Jeff protested. "I'm fine really. I've only got a few scratches and bruises."

"If nothing else, you are going to get that leg seen to," Gordon told him. "That cut's bigger than a scratch."

"And how about the police?" Alan asked. "They are going to want a statement. It's going to look a bit odd if Jeff Tracy doesn't try to do all he can to obtain a conviction of the men who kidnapped him."

"And instead flies off into the sunrise with International Rescue," John added. "We've got to maintain the illusion that you don't know us. And you want Brett and the others to pay for what they've put us all through, don't you?"

"At least get the doctor to give you the once over," Gordon insisted. "We'll try and swing it that you can come home with us."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "You're going to get an ear bashing from Grandma if you turn up in that state with an injured leg and haven't seen a doctor. And think of what she'll say to us! The last few days have been hard enough as it is!"

"All right, all right," Jeff said grudgingly. "But I don't want Grandma to see me like this. I'll need clean clothes when I leave the hospital so I'll give Madge a ring and get her to send some over. Can you get me the phone, Gordon?" He accepted the instrument, ensured that it was set to 'sound only', and dialled a number.

"Le Tonnerre," a female voice said.

"May I speak to Madge D'Aqua, please," Jeff requested.

"Certainly, Sir. One moment."

"Madge D'Aqua speaking."

"Madge, it's Jeff Tracy."

"I'm sorry, Sir. Whom did you say?"

"Jeff Tracy. I want to order a complete…"

"Who?"

"Jeff Tracy. I need some new clothes, Madge…"

"Jeff Tracy?"

"… these are past their best. Can you arrange a complete change for me and charge it to my account?"

"Jeff Tracy's account?"

"Yes, Madge."

"I'm afraid that account has been closed."

"Closed! But I've only been dead a week! Madge, please… Madge?" The video screen read 'call ended'. Jeff looked at his sons. "She didn't believe me."

Gordon chuckled. "You're surprised? Here, let me." He took the videophone from his father. "We'll pretend that those nice people from International Rescue let you phone home from one of their fabulous Thunderbirds." He dialled the number of Le Tonnerre and asked to speak to Madge D'Aqua when the receptionist answered.

Madge came on the line. "Madge D'Aqua, speaking."

"Madge, hi. It's Gordon Tracy. Look, you're not going to believe this, but Dad's alive. He's just called us from one of International Rescue's craft…"

"Gordon?"

"He needs a change of clothes…"

"Gordon!"

"Can you arrange to send them…?"

"Gordon Tracy. I'm ashamed of you! This is quite possibly the most insensitive joke you've ever played!"

"Joke? Madge, no, listen…"

"If your brothers knew you were doing this…"

"But I'm not…"

"And what about your poor old grandmother. She'd be mortified."

"Madge…"

"Goodbye, Gordon!"

Gordon stared at the screen of the videophone which again read, 'call ended'. "She didn't believe me!"

Alan laughed. "Here. Let me do it…" He reached out to take the phone from Gordon.

"Hold on, Alan. Maybe I should call her," John suggested.

Alan pouted. "Why?"

"Let me explain in two words. 'Feral animal'."

"Oh," Alan said. "Point taken." He handed the phone to his older brother.

John dialled the number and managed to get past the receptionist. "It's John Tracy, Madge."

Madge D'Aqua sounded bemused. "John?"

"Look, this'll all become clear later, but could you please parcel up a change of clothes in Dad's size and style and charge it to my account?"

"You want me to… In your father's size?"

"Yes, please. Send them to the Nevada State Hospital."

"Very well. Nevada – State – Hospital," Madge enunciated as she wrote the address down. "And who should I say it's for?"

"Ah… Je… No, make it 'J. Tracy'."

"'J. Tracy'. Is there anything else, John?"

"No, thanks, Madge. Just make sure you put it on my account. We'll explain what this is all about later."

"Very well, John. Au revoir."

"Au revoir, Madge." John hung up the phone.

"Phew!" Gordon mimed wiping his brow. "That was a marathon."

"I wonder what other accounts I'll have to reopen," Jeff mused.

"Probably all of them," Alan said cheerfully. "Your death was widely reported."

"I know. They showed me the papers." Jeff reached into his pocket and withdrew a sodden obituary. "Thanks for the kind words, Boys."

"We won't say any time," John said.

"We're coming in to land," Virgil's voice told them.

* * *

The local authorities were on hand to receive their charges. John wheeled his father out of Thunderbird Two in a wheelchair.

Jeff was greeted by a medical crew and a sceptical policeman. "Can you tell me your name, Sir?"

"Jefferson Tracy."

"Jefferson Tracy," the officer repeated. "And your address?"

"Tracy Island, South Pacific Ocean."

"Date of birth?"

"Second January 2009. And before you ask, my date of death was not a week ago, despite reports. I wasn't on that jet."

"Excuse me, Officer," one of the doctors said. "We'd like to examine 'Mr Tracy'. You can continue your questions afterwards."

"Very well," the policeman took a step back.

John took the opportunity to step forwards. "Excuse me, Mr Tracy," he said. "But Tracy Island sounds like it is a long way away."

"It is," Jeff agreed.

"If it is all right with you, Sir, International Rescue would consider it an honour to escort you home."

Jeff managed to suppress a smile. "I wouldn't like to put you and your fine organisation out," he replied. "I might be here for some time."

"It would be an honour to reacquaint Jeff Tracy with his family," John explained. "We have to collect our equipment and offload a few items first, so we will return here once we have completed those chores." He turned to the policeman. "One of our operatives claimed that he saw Mr Tracy during a rescue a few days ago. Naturally we didn't believe him. If we had, Mr Tracy would have been home by now. This is our way of making amends."

"Very commendable," the policeman agreed. "I believe that you are holding one of the men accused of 'Mr Tracy's' kidnapping."

"We are. Do you want to take him into custody now?"

"If you wouldn't mind, Sir."

John led him over to Thunderbird Two. Angus Brett was led outside by Virgil and Alan, both wearing sunglasses and their hats as a minor form of disguise. They escaped back into the aeroplane as soon as they'd handed over their charge.

"They locked me in a locker!" Mousetopheles complained.

"Indeed, Sir," the policeman sounded uninterested as wrote in his notebook.

"I am a lawyer! I know my rights!"

"And what is your name, Sir?"

"Angus Brett. I demand that…"

"Perhaps you and I could continue this discussion in there?" the policeman indicated the hospital. "Then we can let these gentlemen get on with their business."

"Thank you, Officer," John said. "If you'll excuse me." He shot Brett a triumphant look as he re-entered Thunderbird Two.

A short time later the mighty transporter was heading for the skies. Everyone was in the pilot's cabin.

"Did Father kick up a fuss?" Scott asked John.

"Went like a lamb," John replied. "I told them that we'd take him home to make up for the fact that we hadn't believed that one of our operatives had seen him a few days ago." He ruffled Alan's hair. "Sorry, Bro."

Alan scowled and smoothed his hair back into place. "'S'all right," he muttered.

"First stop to drop Penny and Parker off?" Virgil asked.

"If you wouldn't mind," Lady Penelope said. "You were right. The Duck wasn't the most comfortable vehicle to travel in."

"Would you mind doing us a favour, Penny?" Scott asked. "Would you be willing to pick Brains up and bring him home?"

"It would be a pleasure, Dear Boy," she smiled. "I am willing to do anything to reunite the Tracy family."

_To be continued…_


	19. Reunion

**19 Nineteen: Reunion**

Jeff Tracy had submitted to a full examination, identity tests, and interviews by Chief-Superintendent Gubb and David Campbell. The Chief-Superintendent had informed him that attempts to tell his family the good news had failed, since the phones were still disconnected, and he'd sent Scott an, as yet unread, email informing him of his father's condition and requesting an immediate phone call. Jeff had suppressed a chuckle. The Chief-Super had been wasting his time, the Tracy sons had known long before he had.

Jeff was sitting on a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown, when he heard familiar twin thunderous roars moments before a nurse bustled into his room. "Parcel for you, Mr Tracy," she said cheerfully. "It's from…" she read the label, "Le Ton-airy."

"Ah. This'll be my new clothes," Jeff remarked as he started unwrapping the parcel. "Madge did well getting them here so soon."

"New clothes?" the nurse looked doubtful at the news.

"Would you mind pulling the curtains across?" he asked.

"Ah, of course, Sir." The nurse pulled the curtains around the bed and fled from the room. She was back a short time later, with the doctor who had examined Jeff.

"Mr Tracy! What do you think you are doing?"

Jeff looked at the doctor as he pulled off the hospital gown. "Getting dressed." He handed the gown to the nurse and noticed her looking at the letters on his neck chain. "My sons' initials," he explained. She blushed.

The doctor folded his arms and glared at the man pulling on a new shirt and tucking it into a new pair of trousers. "Mr Tracy! I have NOT discharged you! I would like to keep you in overnight for observation."

"And I, Doctor, would like to go home to my family." Jeff did up the buttons on his sleeves, "I haven't seen them in a week. They thought I was dead and I thought it was a matter of time before I would be."

"You may leave tomorrow."

"I am leaving now!" Jeff stood and grimaced as he tried to put his weight on his injured leg. "Do you want me to sign anything?"

"No. I want you to get back into that bed."

"International Rescue has offered to fly me home," Jeff leant on the back of a convenient chair. "I heard them arrive about ten minutes ago. I am not keeping them waiting any longer."

"Mr Tracy!"

"I have a doctor living on my island. Would you mind writing down any information that you consider he should be aware of. Now," Jeff pulled on a jacket, "I will admit that I am unsteady on this leg. Can I buy a pair of crutches?"

The doctor lifted his chin. "What with?"

Jeff's hand went to his back pocket, looking for the wallet that habitually lived there. Then he remembered that he hadn't seen the wallet in a week and realised that it was probably a charred fragment amongst the wreckage of his plane. "Darn."

"And who is going to pay for your other hospital bills?" the doctor asked.

Jeff frowned. "I wonder if all my bank accounts have been closed…" he mused. He looked back at the doctor. "Do you have a computer with an Internet connection I could use?"

"Are you determined to leave here now?"

"I am."

"Very well," the doctor said with the air of someone who had given up trying to talk sense into his patient. "Nurse, take Mr Tracy, in a wheelchair, to the patient's computer and get him a copy of his account."

"I don't need a wheelchair," Jeff protested. "Crutches will do."

"While you are on hospital premises I will not permit you to use that leg at all," he was informed. "If you are determined to go against medical advice then fine, be it on your own head, but I will do my best to care for you until I hand you over to International Rescue. I will prepare the necessary documents for your discharge."

"Thank you, Doctor."

---F-A-B---

"Any sign of anything?" Scott asked John.

John, sitting inside the entrance hatch of Thunderbird Two, out of sight from the outside world but keeping a close watch on the hospital, shook his head. "No. Should I go inside and see if he's been released?"

His brothers were concealed even deeper in the craft, the lights dimmed to hide their presence. "I don't think they'll have much option. He'll discharge himself even if they don't agree," Alan noted.

"Give them another five minutes," Scott suggested. "You don't want to look too eager. He's not meant to be your father."

"The problem is that he is," John reminded him. "I want to take him home… and soon!"

"I suppose we should be radioing Grandma and telling her the good news." Virgil shifted in the shadows.

"She'll only fret if she knows he's in hospital," Gordon pointed out. "I think we should leave it until we get home. It would be better if she gets the news face-to-face; less of a shock for her."

"And you'll be able to see her expression when she sees him," Alan accused.

Gordon grinned. "Guilty."

"This feels disgusting." Scott looked at his mud soaked uniform. "I wonder if we've got time to get changed?"

"Odds on you'll just get started and he'll come out of the hospital demanding to know what's holding things up," Virgil told him.

"True." Scott rotated grimy shoulders. "It's no good. I have to go and change my shirt at least. Give me a yell if…"

"There he is!" John exclaimed. "Be right back." He was out the door at a gallop, remembering to slow down to a more sedate pace when he'd reached the edge of Thunderbird Two's shadow and had stepped into the glow of the hospital's lights. He trotted over to two men, one struggling to get out of a wheelchair, the other expressing his disapproval. A nurse hovered about in the background.

"Mr Tracy, for the last time, will you consider changing your mind?"

"For the last time. No!"

"Is everything all right?" John asked.

"Everything's fine," Jeff grunted.

"Mr Tracy is discharging himself against my advice," the doctor stated.

"Against your advice?" John frowned. "Should he be staying?"

"I'm all right!" Jeff protested. "This quack wants to keep me in overnight for observation." Even as John bit his lip to stop himself from admonishing his father, Jeff was apologising for his slip. "I'm sorry. I just want to go home." He held a hand out to John. "Help me up," he ordered.

John glanced at the doctor before grasping his father's arm. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Don't you start," Jeff growled.

"As Mr Tracy said, we want to keep him in for observation for 24 hours. He has been through a lot for a man of his age."

Jeff straightened and glared at the doctor. "I'm in good shape for 'my age'. Now, where's that discharge form?"

Clearly unhappy to be in this situation, the doctor held out a clipboard. Leaning on one crutch, Jeff scanned through the document and then signed it with a flourish. "You should frame that," he commented. "How many people get a man's signature after he's died? Sorry I couldn't pay what I owe; someone's frozen all my bank accounts. Send the bill care of Tracy Industries and I'll make sure that it's paid straight away… That's if my family haven't spent all of their inheritance." He gave John a meaningful look before he pointed with the other crutch towards Thunderbird Two. "I presume we're heading in that direction." He started hobbling.

John looked after his departing father and then back at the doctor who sighed and held out an envelope. "Give someone in Mr Tracy's family these notes. And try to make it someone with brains? Someone who will ensure that he follows instructions."

"I will. You can guarantee on that," John said.

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes on this flight," the doctor commented.

"We can handle him," John smiled. "Our commander back at base is just the same. If any of us are sick or injured he can't do enough for us. But if he's ill then he takes it as a personal affront and is unbearable to live with." He looked back at his father in time to see him stumble. "I'd better go!" He jogged after Jeff. "You realise that he thinks you're a grumpy old billionaire," he hissed.

"So? I am a grumpy old billionaire." Jeff looked towards Thunderbird Two's entrance hatch, to where his other four sons huddled in the dark. "And tell your brothers to stop grinning like lunatics! They'll give the game away," he grumbled.

John grinned. "Yes, Sir."

"And that goes for you too."

"Yes, Sir."

The doctor watched as the man from International Rescue tried to help his former patient and was rebuked. "I know the people of International Rescue must be some of the bravest in the world," he said to the nurse. "But helping that man goes beyond the call of duty; I'd almost say that it is heading into the realms of foolhardiness."

Jeff passed through a guard of honour formed by his sons and into the cool interior of Thunderbird Two. "At last! I thought I'd never get here."

"What did the doctor say?" Scott asked.

"That he should be staying in hospital for 24 hours observation," John told him.

"What!" Alan exclaimed. "Dad…!"

"Dad nothing," Jeff growled. "I'm all right and I'm going home. There's nothing wrong with me that my own bed and your grandmother's cooking won't fix." He began hobbling in the direction of the flight deck.

Someone stepped in front of him, blocking his progress. "And where do you think you are going?" Virgil asked.

"I'm going to the pilot's cabin."

"Uh, uh," Virgil refused. "You are going to the sickbay."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Virgil! May I remind you that I am your father!"

"And may I remind you that I am the pilot of Thunderbird Two, and as such I have final say in where my passengers travel. And this 'bird doesn't leave the ground until I know that you are safely strapped in the bunk in the sickbay."

"Virgil!"

Virgil looked at his father with an unflinching gaze. "I'm not moving and neither's Thunderbird Two."

"Fine! If you won't listen to me as your father then you will have to listen to me as commander of International Rescue. And as commander of International Rescue I am ordering you to step to one side!"

"You've been AWOL for the last week and Scott has succeeded you. Currently your status is 'rescued victim' until we get you home. Right, Scott?"

"Right, Virgil," Scott agreed, standing at his brother's shoulder. "And all 'rescued victims' remain under the jurisdiction of International Rescue until they are handed over to the appropriate authorities. So, as a 'rescued victim' travelling in an International Rescue craft you must obey the said craft's pilot and/or the Rescue Co-ordinator. And we both insist that you go up to the sickbay!"

Jeff glared at the pair of them. Then he looked over his shoulder to where his three other sons were waiting. "I don't suppose there's any chance of a mutiny, is there?"

"None."  
"Nope."  
"Sorry."

Jeff sighed. "All right. I'll go sit in the blasted sickbay, but only because it's clear we'll be here all day if one of us doesn't make a move soon; NOT because I require medical care!"

"Understood," Scott grinned. He looked over his father's shoulder. "Do you three think you can handle our 'rescued victim'? The sooner we're out of here the sooner we'll all be home."

"We can handle him," John said with confidence.

"We'll knock his crutches out from under him if he makes a run for it," Gordon added.

"Is that your usual bedside manner, Gordon?" Jeff asked.

"Only for obstinate 'rescued victims'."

"Whatever you do, Scott," Alan warned. "Don't even think about getting home first and telling everyone. We all want to see their faces."

"Don't worry. I aim to be sticking close," Scott reassured him. "I'll meet you in Thunderbird Two's sickbay back on the island."

* * *

"Well, that concludes another successful day at the office," Lady Penelope said as she settled back in the Rolls Royce's seats. Then she looked at her attire. "Dear me. These clothes are quite ruined. Before we pick up Brains we must change. Keep an eye out for a suitable establishment, would you, Parker?"

"Yes, m'Lady."

"I wonder what happened to Mr Brett's briefcase. I should like the authorities to find it and the evidence that it contains." Lady Penelope sat in thought for a moment. "I would prefer it if the Tracys didn't learn what he had written in their file, but I suppose 'Mousetopheles' can't hurt them any more than he already has…" Her face clouded over. "Except for the folder about International Rescue. If he goes through with his threat and tries to expose Jeff and the boys, it could count against them."

"H-I wouldn't worry h-about that, m'Lady."

"No?" Lady Penelope looked at the back of her chauffeur's head in interest. "And why would that be?"

Parker reached up inside his uniform jacket and, trying to keep FAB1 on the straight and narrow with one hand, pulled out a soggy folder with the other. He handed it back over his shoulder to his mistress.

Gingerly, Lady Penelope pulled the wet pages apart. "Angus Brett's dossier on International Rescue… Where did you find this, Parker?"

"H-I swiped h-it h-out h-of 'is 'case when you was tryin' to get h-out h-of the door. H-I shoved the bag h-in the fridge. Should keep h-it nice h-and dry until the cops find h-it."

Lady Penelope smiled. "Well done, Parker.

* * *

Once he was airborne Scott opened the channel that connected Thunderbird One with Thunderbird Two. He grinned when he heard the strains of the fourth movement of Beethoven's ninth symphony, 'Ode to Joy', filter across the airwaves. He had no doubt that before long his brother would be singing along at the top of his voice. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic!" Virgil admitted. "I can't believe it. We've got Father on board and we're going home!"

Scott chuckled. "I know International Rescue are supposed to be miracle workers, but I wasn't aware that raising the dead was one of our skills."

Virgil laughed. "Do you think he's convinced them to let him get out of bed yet?"

"I'll bet he's been trying…"

---F-A-B---

"I don't need to stay on this bed," Jeff protested.

"Yes, you do," John told him. "I heard what that doctor said."

"He was only playing it safe to cover his own back," Jeff growled. "At least let me undo this safety harness and sit up… Or am I going to tell Virgil that you don't trust his flying skills?"

"That's a low blow, Dad," Alan rebuked him. "Wouldn't you rather sleep for a bit?"

"I'd sleep better if I wasn't tied down. I've been harnessed enough these last few days."

John sighed and undid the safety equipment. "How badly did they treat you?"

"It wasn't good," Jeff ignored the exasperated glares from his sons as he struggled into a sitting position. "But it wasn't bad either. Most of the time they left me alone. The food was edible, but the sleeping arrangements weren't the most comfortable I've ever experienced." He rubbed his face. "Why didn't I think to have a shave at the hospital? I don't suppose Thunderbird Two has spare shaving gear on board?"

"It's not considered standard lifesaving equipment," Gordon reminded him. "And you wouldn't want to use our personal stuff."

"With those scratches you might want to wait a couple of days," John recommended. "Give your face a chance to heal."

"We could zap them with a laser," Alan suggested. "Scott's always boasted that he could shave the fuzz off a peach. I'm sure he wouldn't mind having a go."

"He mightn't mind, but I would," Jeff growled and rubbed his face again. "What do I look like?"

"Like Santa Claus has had an argument with Rudolph and come out second best," Gordon grinned. "Here," he handed over a mirror.

"Is that me?" Jeff exclaimed. "I'm a mess!"

"From where I'm sitting," John leant back with a satisfied smile, "you look pretty good."

---F-A-B---

Brains sat in his motel room, his mind racing at the speed of a nuclear explosion, even though it was past the time when most people would have been asleep. He'd been in the process of being interviewed by the officials in charge of the accident investigation, when all of a sudden they'd been called away. He'd been dismissed with no explanation and a request that he inform someone if he was going to fly home to the island. He'd decided that he'd wait for daylight before making that trip, and had intended on getting a good nights sleep in the meantime. So far, that part of his plan had been foiled.

He jumped when the videophone in his unit rang. Forgetting that he was only clad in his pyjamas, he sat down at the phone and answered it. "Lady Penelope?"

"I hope I haven't woken you, Dear Boy."

"N-No. What can I do for you?"

"How soon can you be ready to return home?"

Brains made a quick calculation. "Uh, f-five minutes?"

"Good. We will meet you outside in ten. Wonderful news, Brains. We've found Jeff and he is alive and well."

"You've…" Brains stared at Lady Penelope's video image.

"Do hurry," she entreated. "I'm sure he is simply dying to see you." She paused. "Maybe that wasn't an exceptionally good way of phrasing that."

But Brains didn't care. "He's alive?"

"And is being transported home in one of the Thunderbirds. We will meet you in ten minutes. Au revoir, Brains."

Brains stared at the 'end of call' message. "He's alive…" he breathed. "He's alive! Yippee!" he yelled, not caring about his neighbours in the units adjourning. "He's alive!" He danced across to his suitcase and began throwing thing into it in a haphazard manner. "He's alive!"

A gentile toot of a horn had him running into the hotel lobby ten minutes later. He paid his bill and turned to find himself face-to-face with a smiling Lady Penelope. "He's alive?" he asked again.

Lady Penelope nodded. "Yes, Brains. I have spoken to him personally. Are you ready?"

Brains practically floated out of the hotel lobby and into FAB1.

* * *

Scott had remained at Thunderbird Two's side until they were close to Tracy Island; then he'd accelerated and returned Thunderbird One to her hangar. Once he'd exited his craft, instead of entering the lounge, he made his way to the hangar of International Rescue's workhorse. As soon as her engines had shut down he boarded Thunderbird Two and rode the lift up to the flight deck where he met up with Virgil.

---F-A-B---

Inside the sickbay, its occupants felt rather than heard the mighty motors of Thunderbird Two cut out.

Jeff sat up with a grimace and swung himself round so he was sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Hey!" Alan protested. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting up, Alan," Jeff told him.

"You can't," Gordon added. "Not yet."

"The doctor said you were to stay off that leg," John insisted. "We can carry you inside on…"

"I'm not going to be carried like a baby," Jeff growled. "When your grandmother sees me it's going to be standing on my own two feet."

"But…!" Alan began to protest again and was interrupted by the arrival of the two pilots.

Scott's smile left his face. "What's going on?"

"Dad says he's going to walk into the house," Gordon told him.

"What!" Virgil exclaimed. "No way!"

"Yes way," Jeff replied as he slid gingerly off the bed and balanced on his good leg. "I'll lean on you and Gordon."

"Why us?" Virgil asked.

"You're not as tall as your brothers."

Gordon folded his arms stubbornly. "And what if we refuse?"

Jeff stared at him. "Are you going to make me walk unaided?"

"No, we were planning on carrying you to your room on a stretcher."

"Or at least wheel you there in a wheelchair," John added.

"You can take me to the lounge, but I am going to walk there!"

None of his sons moved or said anything.

"I'd appreciate if you all remembered that, dead or alive, I am still your father. And as such I expect my orders to be obeyed."

Four of his sons looked at his eldest.

"What do you think, Scott?" Virgil asked. "He's still a 'rescued victim' under International Rescue's control, and besides, you're in charge at home when he's out of action."

Scott looked at his brothers and then at his father who had propped himself up against the bed. Then he looked back to his brothers again. "I think you and John had better go and prepare Grandma for the shock, Alan. Only don't let the cat out of the bag!"

"And us?" Gordon asked.

Scott sighed. "We'll do as he asks. I'll bring the wheelchair just in case."

"I don't need a wheelchair," Jeff growled.

"I'll bring the wheelchair," Scott reinforced. "And then," he pointed a finger in his father's direction, "you go straight to bed."

"I'm not one of your younger brothers, Scott. You can't order me about."

"Maybe so," Scott folded his arms. "But, as Virgil said, I'm in charge when you're out of action. And in my book you're out of action at the moment. Because of that they won't do anything except what I tell them too…"

"He'll have us on leash next," Gordon whispered to Alan.

Scott pretended to not hear him. "And they won't be taking you anywhere until you agree to go straight to bed after you've seen Grandma!"

Jeff tried to stand and felt the discomfort of the last few days take hold. "All right," he conceded as he relaxed back against the bunk. "Grandma will probably nag me into bed anyway."

Scott's grin returned. "Go on you two," he said to Alan and John, as Virgil and Gordon took up position on either side of their father and took his weight. Scott grabbed a wheelchair. "Don't be too proud to ask for this."

The two blonde Tracys decided that there was no need to hurry. They knew it would take some time for their father to reach the lounge.

"So, Alan," John asked, "how does it feel to be right and the rest of us wrong for a change?"

"The truth?" Alan smiled. "It feels pretty darn good… but not for the reasons you're implying."

"I can't believe it," John said. "I still can't believe that he's alive!"

"And that's with a clear head," Alan reminded him. "I had to deal with it through a whopping great headache and you guys telling me I was out of my mind."

"I feel really guilty about that, Alan," John admitted as they stopped outside the lounge. "We all do. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I probably would have treated myself the same way." Alan looked at the lounge door. "How do we deal with this?"

"She's strong," John said. "Just get her to sit down until he arrives."

They entered the lounge.

"You're back are you?" Mrs Tracy said. "Was it a successful rescue?"

"Oh yes," John grinned. "It was successful beyond our wildest dreams."

Alan stepped forward and took his Grandmother by the hands. "Grandma, we'd like you to sit down."

"Sit down? Why?" She remained standing.

"Because we have something to show you that might be a shock."

"Is something wrong?" her elderly face creased in concern.

"No." Alan was beaming.

"Please sit down, Grandma." John indicated a nearby couch.

Mystified, she was about to comply, just as Scott entered the room wheeling the 'chair before him.

"Did you need it?" John asked him.

Scott shook his head. "No. Stubborn devil refuses to acknowledge that he hasn't got the strength…"

"Someone's been hurt again!" Grandma Tracy exclaimed. "Who? How?" She grasped Alan's arm.

"Calm down, Grandma," Alan soothed. "No one's hurt… Well, yes he is, but not badly. You'll just have to take him under your wing and make him rest. There's no way he'll listen to any of us."

"Alan?" his Grandmother looked at him; a quizzical expression on her face.

Scott held the door open and Gordon stepped sideways into the room supporting an obviously unwell…

"Jeff!" Mrs Tracy gasped.

He gave her a wry grin. "Hello, Mother."

She stood in a daze; Alan hovering behind her as if he was frightened that she was about to collapse. "Jeff? Is that you?"

"It's me."

"I'm seeing things!" She stepped closer.

"I can assure you that I'm not a ghost," he said, as they came to a halt.

"He's too heavy to be a ghost," Gordon grunted.

Grandma stepped up to her son, and gently raised a hand to his face. "I don't believe it," she said faintly. "I thought you were…"

"Dead? I'm not dead…." Jeff released his grip on Gordon and Virgil.

"Time for bed, Father," Scott instructed.

His grandmother didn't appear to hear him. One hand grasped her son's; the other was still on the side of Jeff's face, her thumb stroking his cheek as she looked at him in disbelief. "I don't believe it," she repeated. "It's a miracle."

"No it's not," he rebuked her gently. "It was a devious scheme by some very unpleasant men. And it's thanks to your grandsons, Lady Penelope and Parker that I'm here."

"Waiting to be helped to bed," John said. "Come on, Dad. You promised."

Jeff took his mother's hand - the one that was caressing his face - and kissed it lightly. "I've been ordered to bed, Mother. I think I'd better go before they get cross with me." He placed his arm back around Virgil's shoulders.

"Oh, Jeff!" Grandma pulled him close. "I've missed you so much!"

Jeff returned the hug. "And I've missed you," he murmured. "I love you, Ma."

She began to cry. "Jeff…"

"I'm okay… Don't cry… I'm okay, Ma…"

"I'm so glad you're home…"

"I'm glad too…"

"I can't believe it…"

"Shhh, Ma. I'm okay…"

"Jeff…"

"Don't cry Ma… please…"

Scott left the wheelchair by the wall and moved closer to the rest of his family. There he joined John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan as, just as they had up at Jefferson Lookout, they linked together in the unbreakable circle. Unbreakable and complete; with the nucleus of their world in the centre.

As he relaxed into his mother's familiar embrace, Jeff Tracy closed his eyes and tried to fight the sensation that was pricking his eyelids; but relief, joy, and sorrow for the distress that he'd caused to those who meant the most to him, conspired against him, and tears flowed down his cheeks. When he finally opened his eyes he realised that his five sons had fought a similar battle and lost.

Virgil saw Scott wipe his eyes on his sleeve. "This is becoming a habit."

Scott chuckled. "The smell of the monster cat overpowered me."

Grandma finally released her hold on her son and took a step backwards so she could look up at him. "What did those horrid men do to my little boy's handsome face?"

"These?" Jeff indicated the four-day-old bruises and tried to divert attention away from the emotion of the moment. "You will be proud to know I got these trying to protect your youngest grandson."

"Oh, Alan…" and Alan was surprised to find himself wrapped up in a firm hug. "I'm so sorry that I didn't believe you," his grandmother sobbed into his chest.

With her head digging into his windpipe, Alan was unable to respond with little more than a "glurg".

"I think he needs rescuing again," Jeff said. "Let him go, Mother."

"And then we can get you to bed, Dad," Gordon suggested, offering his arm as support.

Someone entered the lounge "Is everyone back?" Tin-Tin asked. "I thought I heard Thunderbird…" She stopped, not immediately recognising the unshaven man, wearing new clothes and surrounded by a sea of blue. She stared for a moment, confused as to why the Tracy boys were still in their uniforms when a stranger was in their midst.

"Hello, Tin-Tin," Jeff said.

"Mr Tracy!" Tin-Tin gave a little shriek of delight, ran to him, and hugged him tightly. Jeff felt the bruises he'd gained earlier that day complain at the treatment they were receiving.

Alan saw the grimace of pain on his father's face. "Careful, Tin-Tin. He's a bit fragile at the moment. He should be going to bed."

"I'm all right," Jeff growled.

Tin-Tin stood back and, eyes shining, looked up at Jeff. "I can't believe it! How are you? Are you hurt? Was Mr Brett involved? I'm so pleased to see you. What happened to you? Who was flying your jet? Where have you been? We thought you were dead. Who found you? Was it Lady Penelope? How did you get home? Did the boys bring you? Does Father know…?"

"Whoa," Jeff instructed. "The answers are: fine, no, yes, and then I lost track until the last one. No, your father doesn't know yet. Do you want to tell him?"

"Oh! Can I?!" Tin-Tin clapped her hands together and took a step away. Then she stepped back and kissed Jeff on the cheek. "This is wonderful!" She ran from the room.

Jeff chuckled. "I wouldn't mind being welcomed home like that every time."

"Come on, Father," Virgil put a supportive arm about his parent. "Let's get you to bed. Kyrano can say hello in your roo…"

There was a joyful exclamation from the room next door, followed by a torrent of Malaysian. Kyrano entered the lounge at speed, closely followed by Tin-Tin. "Mr Tracy! Is it you?"

"It is, Kyrano." Jeff held his hand out in greeting.

His smile threatening to split his face in two; Kyrano bowed to his employer and friend. Then he hesitated. _'Mr Tracy wishes to shake my hand. It is the Western way and it is right that I should do as he wishes.' _He reached out to shake hands.

But he was too late. Jeff, thinking that Kyrano wished to maintain Eastern protocols, had put his arm back about Virgil's shoulders.

'_No. This is how it should be.'_ Kyrano withdrew his hand and placed his palms together._ 'Mr Tracy is my employer. This is right.' _ He bowed again.

Seeing that Kyrano had been about to shake hands Jeff had let go of Virgil and reached out again.

Kyrano straightened, saw his friend's outstretched hand and hesitated, confused as to what protocol he should follow. Then he gave up, ignored all accepted protocols and cultural traditions, and with a cry of joy, flung his arms about Jeff's neck. The embrace was so enthusiastic that Jeff was knocked backwards and would have fallen if Virgil and Gordon hadn't had hold of him.

"Steady on, Old Friend," Jeff gasped.

Kyrano remembered his place and bowed again. "I am sorry."

"I'm not," Jeff retorted. "I wasn't prepared, that's all. I'm glad to see you too."

Kyrano smiled again. "You are well?"

Jeff opened his mouth to speak but was beaten to the punch by Alan. "He's got a cut on his leg and he should be in bed."

"I'm all right, Alan." Jeff was beginning to get sick of the continuous references to his health.

"The doctor at your hospital told you to stay off that leg and I promised I'd make sure you'd do that," John reminded him.

"That doctor didn't know anything," Jeff growled.

"Then Brains can give you a second opinion when he gets home," Virgil said. "In the meantime it won't hurt you to go to bed."

"I'm not tired."

"You can't even stand by yourself," Gordon told him. "If Virgil and I were to let go you'd fall over."

"No I wouldn't."

Scott retrieved the wheelchair and positioned it behind his father, locking its wheels in place. "Here. Sit."

Jeff glared at him "I am not a dog."

"You're not well either. Now sit in the 'chair and we can take you to your room so you can go to bed."

Jeff had reached the end of his tether with all of his family and especially his eldest. "May I remind you, _Son_," and emphasis was placed on the word son, "that I am in my house now!"

Scott didn't bat an eyelid. "And may I remind you, _Sir_, that you are in the care of International Rescue until we pass you over to the appropriate authorities." He guided his Grandmother forward. "Meet the appropriate authorities."

Grandma scowled at her errant son. "Don't be an idiot, Jefferson, and sit in that wheelchair."

Jeff knew he was beaten. He glowered at Scott whose face held a trace of a smirk. "You haven't heard the last of this."

The smirk widened into a full grin. "I'm counting on that."

* * *

"Angus Benedict Brett, you have entered no plea. You will be extradited from the state of Nevada to Kansas where you will stand trial. You may stand down."

Brett stood tall, biding his time. He gazed impassively at the judge as the guard cuffed his hands. If Jeff Tracy was willing to risk all to see him get his day in court then he, Angus Brett, would make good on his threat to expose all. A small smile played about his lips as he imagined the crowd of reporters and photographers cramming the steps of the courthouse, waiting to see the man accused of being party to the audacious kidnapping of the multi-billionaire. They would be standing there in an expectant hush, Brett would be led outside by the police, and an excited babble would break out. Then he would stand on those steps and announce to the world that Jeff Tracy and his accursed sons were International Rescue! He imagined the reaction of the press: confusion, bewilderment, doubt, leading to a clamour of questions about how could he know this and what proof did he have?

Angus Brett smiled at the image of Jeff Tracy parrying phone call after phone call, deleting email after email, ignoring text after text, shredding fax after fax. He imagined International Rescue at work as people carried photos of the Tracy boys and tried to ascertain if these were the same men.

Angus Brett laughed at Jeff Tracy's gullible faith that these things would not happen. _'Soon you will really know suffering, Tracy,'_ he thought. _'Today will be as great a day as the day your lovely Lucille died."_

"Inside!" the police officer barked.

Brett suddenly realised that he'd been caught up in his wild fantasies and hadn't noticed that he'd been taken to the underground car park of the courthouse. Ahead of him stood the open doors of the vehicle that was to transport him to Kansas. Disgruntled that, for the short term at least, his grand plans had been foiled, he climbed into the wagon. His handcuffs were removed before iron mesh and then solid doors closed behind him trapping him in a dark capsule.

Through a narrow window beyond the mesh he watched as they moved out of the city centre and onto the highway. The world sped by, unaware of who it was occupying this van bearing law enforcement logos. In the distance he could make out the bulk of a truck, probably one of those road trains. His nose twitched.

Brett tried to scratch his nose and found the action to be ineffective. He decided to try to ignore the irritant and looked out the dark rear window of the van again. The truck was closer now.

The itch was really beginning to annoy him so in the absence of his handkerchief, he rubbed his nose on his sleeve. This relieved the irritation somewhat and he resumed his inspection of the road behind him.

The truck was close and from this angle appeared to be as big as Thunderbird Two. '_Tailgater,'_ he thought. _'What would happen if we had to stop suddenly? That thing would squash us flat.'_

The truck began to weave all over the road; its driver frantically tooting his horn. Brett's stomach dropped, his heart leapt into his mouth and all his other internal organs seemed to do flip-flops as it zoomed across the road again, narrowly missing the police van, whose driver was forced to take evasive action. The truck reversed its course…

Like a mouse frozen under the gaze of a predatory cat, Brett stared in fear as the truck headed straight for him…

* * *

The Tracys received the news from Superintendent Gubb.

"That's a lucky accident for International Rescue," Gordon said. "Mousetopheles' death has saved us a lot of worry."

"Do you think it was an accident?" his father asked from his bed.

"Why? Don't you?" Alan asked.

Jeff shook his head. "No. I think he knew too much about the people he was dealing with. I don't think Brett was into murder, but I dare say his associates wouldn't have had any problem with it… Is that the 'World Herald', Virgil?"

A printer had begun churning away and the evening edition of a broadsheet was spat out. Virgil picked up the paper. "Billionaire alive! Kidnapping suspect killed." he read. "International Rescue works another miracle." He laughed. "They must have been reading your mind, Scott."

"I know we're good," Scott said, "but we can't take the credit this time. It was a fluke that we happened to be called out to the right place at the right time. It's Penny and Parker who deserve all the credit."

"So, if Earl had Brett killed, what will he do to Miles and his associates?" John asked.

"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "I suppose it will depend on how they behave through the court systems. If they stay loyal he might get them a top legal team. If not…" he shrugged.

Scott's watch beeped. "Here's Brains. I'll go and talk him down." He stood. "And you..." he pointed at his father. "Don't you go anywhere."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," Jeff retorted. "Your grandmother's got these sheets tucked in so tightly that I can barely move. At least my kidnappers left me free to walk around my room."

"And you've done too much walking," she admonished. "You've got to let that leg heal."

"It's all right," he complained.

"Are you warm enough?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Alan, go and get another blanket for your father."

"This is a tropical island and I'm not cold! Don't fuss, Mother!"

"I thought you were dead, Jeff. Of course I'm going to fuss!"

"Yeah," John agreed. "You can expect a lot of fussing until you get back on your feet."

* * *

The shocking pink aeroplane touched down and taxied to the end of the runway. Scott stepped forward to help lower the steps. "Hi, Brains," he grinned at the eager young man who was waiting impatiently inside.

"He's alive?"

"He's alive," Scott confirmed. "And he's looking forward to seeing you again. Go on, I'll bring your gear up." He watched Brains run across the tarmac towards the monocar.

"Now that's a happy man," Lady Penelope commented as she alighted from her aircraft.

"Isn't he," Scott grinned.

"I didn't mean Brains."

"Huh? Oh…" Scott looked bashful for a moment and then let the grin break out over his face again. "Yes, I am."

"How is Jeff?"

"He's grouchy, irritable, and refuses to do what he's told. In other words he's fine."

"And how is everyone else?"

"More than a little happy to put up with a grouchy, irritable, obstinate man. Do you want to walk up or take the monocar?"

"I would enjoy the walk to stretch my legs, but I'm sure Parker would prefer the monocar," Lady Penelope admitted.

"Indeed, Madam," Parker confirmed.

Scott helped load three lots of luggage into the second monocar. "There you go, Parker. Enjoy the trip."

"Ta, Mister Scott."

Scott turned back to the aristocrat. "Shall we walk, your Ladyship?"

"Indeed, Mr Tracy," Lady Penelope bowed her head in acknowledgement.

"As long as he's alive there's only one Mr Tracy," Scott said with pride as they began their walk. "We had a call from the police a short while ago. Angus Brett was killed when a truck and trailer unit lost its brakes and rear-ended the police wagon that was taking him to Kansas."

"Do the police think it was an accident?" Lady Penelope asked.

"They didn't say. Father has his doubts. And, as much as I hate to admit seeing some good in someone's death, at least he never had the opportunity to tell anyone International Rescue's identity."

"So your secret is safe?"

"Yep. It looks as though the only people who know are those who are supposed to know…" Scott winked at his companion. "You realise you could probably score a sizeable bonus out of Father for the detective work you've done on this."

"Now, Scott. Your father and I never discuss money…" she admitted. "However, I would not encourage you and your brothers to follow my example."

Scott was silent for a moment. "I know you're right, Penny. That was one area of interest or expertise none of us had…"

"So I gathered."

"I've never thought of any of us as 'spoilt brats'… I mean we've always worked hard to get anything or anywhere. We haven't relied on our father's money or on being… what did Brett call us?"

"'Five nauseatingly intelligent and gifted young men.'"

"That's a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one," Scott admitted. "But, as I was saying, we've always worked hard. You don't get into Harvard or Oxford because of who you are or who your parents are. You have to show aptitude and a willingness to work. But…" he paused, "I guess at the back of our minds there's always been the assumption that if any of us failed there was always a cushion for us to fall back on. And when we thought that cushion wasn't there…" he shook his head ruefully. "This last week has been an eye opener for all of us."

"Well, if you can get something positive out it then you can't call it a totally wasted experience," Lady Penelope told him.

"Something positive…" Scott mused. "The most positive thing I can think of is lying in his bed moaning because no one will let him get up…"

---F-A-B---

"…It was the most boring rescue we'd ever been on," John burbled happily. "We seemed to be hours sitting in Thunderbird Two doing absolutely nothing except vacuuming up this cloud of gas and waiting for Gordon and Alan to come out in the G-E-V with the two scientists. Maybe it was my state of mind, since we thought you were dead, but my heart just wasn't in the rescue. And with Scott snapping at Virgil over the slightest thing, things weren't very pleasant… He really had it in for you, didn't he, Virg? Just because you made him have something to eat! He annoyed Virgil that much that Virgil told me that he wanted to be the one to blow up Thunderbird One…"

"John," Virgil interrupted. "There's been times over the last few days when I thought I'd never get the opportunity to say this again, but… Will you be quiet?!"

"You wanted to blow up Thunderbird One?" Gordon asked, a look a wicked amusement on his face.

"You promised to keep that secret, John," Virgil grumbled.

"Uh, uh," John corrected. "THAT wasn't the secret I promise to keep."

"Then what was?" Alan asked; his face alive with curiosity.

"John…!" Virgil warned.

John tapped the side of his nose with a knowing grin.

"You can tell us later," Gordon said in a stage whisper.

"No he can't…"

There was the sound of running footsteps in the hallway. Brains burst into the room and raced over to the bed. "You're alive!"

"Hello, Brains," Jeff beamed and grasped the young man's hand. "Now I've seen you I've seen the whole family and now I KNOW I'm home."

Brains face lit up and he blushed slightly. "Y-Y-You look…"

"Terrible. I know." Jeff rubbed his whiskery face. "I'm going to shave as soon as I get the opportunity."

"N-N-No," Brains corrected. "I was going to s-say that you look great."

Jeff patted his hand affectionately. "I've got a job for you. Once things have settled down I want you to begin construction on another jet just like the one that crashed. That last one was brilliant to fly. In fact I'd say that I've never flown a better plane, with the possible exception of the Thunderbirds."

"Y-You mean it!?"

"Yes, I mean it. Except…" Jeff looked apologetic. "Would you mind if this time we changed the controls to those you suggested initially? I think I'd feel happier having something unique."

Brains nodded. "Of course. Not a problem."

There was a knock on the door as Scott entered. "Do you feel up to having a couple of guests?"

"Of course! As long as they don't mind seeing me confined to bed."

"We're just happy to see you, Jeff," Lady Penelope told him as she stepped over the threshold. "It's good to see the family complete again."

"It's good to be together again," Grandma said. "And I'd better start thinking about cooking dinner. Will you help me, Kyrano?"

Kyrano bowed. "It would be a pleasure, Mrs Tracy."

"You can have my seat, Lady Penelope," Tin-Tin offered. "I'll help with dinner."

"Thank you." Lady Penelope accepted the chair. She noticed that Virgil had a sketchpad in his hand. "And what are you creating?"

"I'm only sketching at the moment. Just getting a few ideas."

"Of what?"

"A wise man," Virgil winked at Alan, "said we needed a portrait of Father and I'm going to attempt one. I'm not guaranteeing that it'll be any good though."

"I'm sure you could think of better things to paint," Jeff complained.

"No," Virgil looked at his father, "I can't."

"I think it's an admirable idea," Lady Penelope said.

"Couldn't you at least wait until I'm out of bed and look more presentable?"

"I don't want to waste a moment," Virgil told him.

"Did Scott tell you about Angus Brett, Penny?" Jeff asked.

"Yes. I am glad that he won't be able to cause you any more trouble."

"Huh?" Parker asked. "What 'appened to 'im."

Gordon handed over the copy of the World Herald. "Mousetopheles was killed in a road accident. We think Earl had something to do with it."

"Wouldn' surprise me," Parker mused as he read the paper.

"I know this is going to sound uncharitable," Alan said. "But, after what he put us through, I would have loved for him to be trapped somewhere where only International Rescue could save him…"

"What would you have done then?" John asked.

"I would have left him! I would have let him suffer the way we suffered. I would have let him know that his actions had consequences further reaching than just our family."

Virgil looked up from his sketching. "Would you have eventually saved him?"

"Nope. I would have let him die."

"Alan!" Jeff rebuked him.

"Dad! He watched us grieving over you and laughed at as."

"I know…"

"He let us put up with all the enquiries and doubts and the nosy press and the authorities asking questions as they tried to prove that you'd caused all those deaths."

"I'm sure they were only doing their jobs," Jeff said.

"You've got no idea what I went through when I knew that you were alive and no one believed me! I thought I was going out of my mind!" Embarrassed looks passed between Alan's brothers. "He watched us rip ourselves and each other to shreds and enjoyed himself!"

"Alan?"

"Calm down, Alan," Scott said quietly. "We're not the only ones who have suffered."

Alan took a deep breath to try and get his temper back under control. "I know Dad's had a tough time, Scott, but so have we! He doesn't know how completely we fell apart when he wasn't here to keep us together."

Jeff looked at his youngest son. "It'll happen one day, Alan."

"Yeah, I know. But I always figured that it wouldn't be until you were really old."

Jeff tried to get comfortable and grimaced as his body complained. "Believe me, I'm feeling old at the moment."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Alan looked abashed. "I shouldn't have said all that."

"We'll forget about it. All that matters is that we're all together now. It won't take much for things to return to normal. Once I've checked that my finances are still in order and you haven't all spent your inheritances."

Scott stole a glance at Lady Penelope who was regarding the invalid fondly.

John laughed. "Well, Gordon. You said you'd give it all away to bring him back. Looks like you're going to have to."

"He's welcome to it. I don't want a multi-million dollar millstone about my neck."

Scott reached into his pocket and removed an object which he held out to his father. "I thought you might like these back."

With a questioning frown Jeff took the tiny velvet bag. He looked inside and his face lit up as he poured a band of gold onto his palm. "I thought I'd never see this again." He looked up at Lady Penelope. "Thank you."

"Thank Parker," she informed him. "He found it."

Jeff gave the butler a look of gratitude. "Thank you, Parker." He looked back at Lucille's ring. "You know, looking at this, I'm almost inclined to agree with you, Alan. What Brett said about your mother's death…" he closed his hand about the ring. "I never trusted that man."

Scott looked surprised. "You didn't? Then why did you stick with him?"

"Because when I first met him I was pretty green and I was his first client, so I figured that was why I had this uneasy feeling about him. I decided that he only needed someone to show some faith in him and he'd be okay."

"Why didn't you change lawyers later?" John asked.

"He was such a nondescript little man that I'd forget about him as soon as I walked out of his office. He never did me any wrong so I put down my concerns to being a hangover from that first meeting. I also thought that it was only a will so what damage could he do?" Jeff looked around his family. "Quite a lot apparently."

"Your ring's in the bag too," Gordon said. "You probably won't want to wear it though."

Jeff poured the second ring onto his hand so it was lying beside his wife's. "They must have pulled it off my finger when they knocked me out." He glanced up. "Can you clean it, Brains?"

Brains picked up the larger ring and looked at it closely. "I can c-clean it, but the structure of the metal has been weakened. I w-wouldn't recommend wearing it on your finger again."

"Could you mount it with Ma's?" Alan asked.

"I could give you the name of an excellent jeweller," Lady Penelope offered. "Perhaps he could suspend, ah, Lucille's ring within yours. Or you could melt them both down and make one new one."

"I'll think about it." Jeff slipped the rings back into their bag and clutched it tightly in his hand. "I'm sorry, everyone."

Virgil, and everyone else, looked surprised. "Sorry?"

"Sorry," Jeff repeated. "For all I put you through."

"That wasn't y-your fault," Brains reminded him. "Y-You were an innocent party."

"But if I'd gone with my gut instincts and had changed lawyers none of us would have had to go through what we've gone through. But I couldn't be bothered with the hassle." Jeff looked rueful. "I thought I'd let go of my lazy, selfish ways a long time ago. All through my life I'd always had someone I could rely on to do the hard work, while I cruised along. At first it was my parents, then the Air Force, and finally Lucille. I had the talent and aptitude, but not the drive to put any real effort into what I did. I was quite content to take the credit for others' hard work. That was until I suddenly had take responsibility for my life and the lives of five others…" He raised a wry eyebrow to Lady Penelope. "Does that surprise you?"

The expression on her face indicated that this was indeed the case.

"In fact," Jeff continued on, "in those early years I was that selfish that I frequently put myself before my family's interests." He looked at Scott. "There've been some instances that I've never forgiven myself for."

"Don't worry," Scott told him. "You were forgiven a long time ago."

"You must have been," Gordon said. "The four of us are still alive." He let out a yelp of pain when Scott punched him. He rubbed his arm. "That hurt!"

"We owe you a lot more than you owe us, Dad," John said.

"Starting with Alan paying you back for his car crash," Gordon said and received a twin bruise on the other arm from his younger brother. "I'm under attack! Hey, Virg, I could use your martial arts skills to help me out here."

Scott looked across the bed to Virgil. "Want me to?"

"Yes, please."

Scott hit Gordon again. The red-head didn't have a chance to react before he received another blow on the other arm. "Alan! What was that for?!"

"A warning on John's behalf."

"Thanks, Alan," John smirked.

"I hope Dad charges you interest," Gordon grumbled. "He should take it out of your salary."

Jeff's eyes twinkled. "Who's to say I'm not?"

Alan's head snapped around to the figure on the bed. "What!?" At his brothers' laughter he looked back at them. "How much do you guys get?"

"More than you by the sounds of it," John teased.

Alan pouted. "That's not fair. What do you earn, Scott?"

"None of your business."

"Come on. Tell me!"

"Nope."

"Is it more than me?"

"Probably. I get a supervisor's allowance."

"Super…" Alan shook his head. "Virgil, what do you get paid?"

"Danger money."

Alan goggled. "Danger money?"

"Uh, huh," Virgil nodded, grinning.

"And I get a cut of the profits from the underwater equipment I helped develop," Gordon stated.

Scott winked at Lady Penelope. "Who says we never discuss finances?"

Alan, astonished by what he was being told, had turned to his blonde brother. "John?"

"Yes, Alan?"

"What do you earn?"

"Enough to keep me happy."

"And how much is that?"

"A bit… plus an isolation allowance… for when I'm alone on Thunderbird Five."

"Isolation allowance! I don't get an isolation allowance," Alan whined. "Dad…"

"I see nothing's changed," Jeff sighed.

"And it's wonderful to see the family playing together again," Lady Penelope informed him.

Jeff decided that it was time to ignore his bantering sons. "So, Brains, tell us about your week…"

* * *

The room was in darkness. A door sneaked open, throwing a beam of light across the recumbent figure. Five silhouetted figures moved into the light.

"I can't believe it. Pinch me someone..."

"We've got our lodestar back…"

"It almost seems like a miracle…"

"This time last night I never dreamed he'd be here now…"

"It still seems like a dream..."

"Well, go to bed and dream it," a voice growled. "I'm trying to sleep."

There were some muttered 'sorrys', a hasty rustling at the door, and the sound of five bodies trying to exit the room at once.

Jeff Tracy chuckled and snuggled deeper into his own soft pillow in his own soft bed...

_To be continued…_


	20. Celebration

**20 Twenty: Celebration**

It was a week later when the stretch limousine glided between the rows of reporters and flashing camera bulbs and into the relative quiet of the cordoned off area. The automatic car door swung open and a man exited the vehicle, doing up the buttons on his expensive suit jacket. He pulled his hat lower over the sunglasses that concealed his eyes and straightened his tie before turning to a similarly clad man. "Is that you, Alan?"

"You know it is, Gordon."

"It's a bit hard to tell under these hats," Gordon confided. "I feel like a FBI bodyguard." He pretended to hold an earpiece in his ear and talked into an imaginary microphone hidden under his lapel. "This is GT calling AT. All clear this side." He made a sound like a burst of static.

Alan grinned and mimicked the noise and his brother's actions. "AT here. All clear. No sign of Mousetopheles…"

"Will you two be serious? You're making me nervous." John tried to get out of the limo. "And shift! You're in the way." He leant back inside the car. "Give me your cane. I'll hold it while you get out."

"I don't know why I need that thing anyway," Jeff grumbled as he climbed out of the limo.

John handed the cane, an ornate jet black affair with a bird of prey carved into the handle, back to his father. "Well, if you want to risk falling on your face in front of a hundred thousand people then fine, leave it in the car."

Jeff took the cane. "This is embarrassing." He rubbed at his face, feeling its smoothness after a recent shave.

"What, having to use a cane? It's not a permanent fixture," Gordon said. "Besides, it adds a touch of class. You could always entertain everyone with that ol' soft shoe shuffle."

"I don't mean using a cane. I mean having to sit on a stage and listen to all these people tell me what a great guy I'm supposed to be."

"When we know the truth," Alan grinned. He moved away from the door so Kyrano, dressed in his finest robes, could exit the car.

"Don't knock it," John advised. "How many people get to hear their own eulogies after they've died? There're a lot of people here who have come a long way just to honour you."

"Including most of Tracy Industries employees," Gordon pointed out.

"Who are only here so that they can have some time off work at my expense."

"Rubbish," John said succinctly. "And don't forget the World President's here too."

"Trying to score political points," Jeff growled.

Exiting through another door in the limousine, Virgil straightened and stared at the structure in front of him. "Oh, heck."

"What's wrong?" Scott asked, as he leant back in to help his grandmother out of the car.

"It's big."

"Of course it's big," Scott rejoined. "It's Tracy Stadium. You were here for the rehearsal this morning. What did you expect?"

"Something smaller."

"Something smaller? This concert is all your idea, remember?"

"Yeah, but I was envisaging performing in front of maybe 100 people. Not 100 thousand…" Virgil swallowed. "It's no good. I can't do this." He pushed Brains out of the way and attempted to climb back into the limousine.

"Virgil!" Grandma admonished.

Scott grabbed his younger brother by the collar and hauled him out of the car. "What's wrong with you?"

"I've been having these nightmares and they are so clear it's almost like some kind of premonition…"

"Such as?"

"Such as it's my turn to do my piece, I sit down at the piano, and it's out of tune!"

"I d-don't think you'll have to worry about that," Brains observed. "Miss Fordbury will s-see that the piano is tuned."

'Yeah," Scott agreed. "Pen will be checking and re-checking that everything's perfect. And it was okay at the rehearsal, wasn't it? Don't worry."

"But that's not the only dream," Virgil complained. "And each time they've got worse. I'd forgotten my music. Or else I'd forgotten how to play. I had one where Penny had got her hands on the piano and had painted it pink. I opened the lid and all the keys were different colours. In the next dream when I opened the lid there were no keys at all. In this morning's dream I was playing terribly and Parker stands up and says 'That's not how you play Fir Elsie…'"

"Fir Elsie?" Grandma asked.

"I think he meant 'Fűr Elise'. Anyway he pushes me off the piano stool and plays it better than I ever could. Parker got a standing ovation and I spent a sleepless night."

"But you're not playing 'Fir Elsie' or 'Fűr Elise', you're playing the 'Thunderbirds March'" Grandma reminded him. "It's your composition and if you play it wrong we're the only ones who will know. Don't worry about it."

"I can't," Virgil protested. "I can't go through with it…" He made a move towards the limo again.

Scott made an exasperated sound, tightened his grip on Virgil's collar and dragged him over to the rest of the family.

Alan was helping Tin-Tin out of the limousine. "What's wrong?"

"Stage fright." Scott let go of the collar and Virgil watched the limousine drive away, a wistful expression on what could be seen of his face under his disguise.

"Look what you've done to his suit, Scott." Grandma tried to brush the creases out of her grandson's jacket.

"Stage fright? Virgil?! I don't believe you," Gordon laughed. "Hey, Virg, would you be happier if we set fire to the stadium? Then you could risk your neck rescuing everyone."

Virgil brightened at the thought. "Yeah. I could handle that."

"You'll be all right, Virgil," Tin-Tin reassured him. "Once you're on stage you'll forget all your worries."

"Whose crazy idea was this, anyway?" Jeff asked.

Four hands pointed at Virgil, who looked as though he wanted to be sick. "I should have gone up to Five this morning like we'd originally planned."

Jeff sidled up to him. "There's a bar around the corner. How about the pair of us head over there until this fiasco is over?"

Virgil managed to grin at his father's scheme. "Sounds like a good idea… except for four things." He pointed to where a solid wall of Tracy muscle was glaring at them.

"Don't even think about it," Scott growled.

Jeff looked at his four sons who were standing there, arms folded, backs ramrod straight as if they were auditioning to be Earl's heavies. "Tell you what, Virgil," he said in a stage whisper. "You tackle Scott and I'll take care of the other three."

Virgil played along. "Sounds fair… Just as long as you consent to give me a hand with mine once you've beaten yours into submission."

"Okay…"

"Have you two finished?" Scott asked. "It's time we went inside."

Jeff sighed. "It would never work anyway, Virgil. We might be able to handle your brothers, but Grandma's a different prospect altogether."

"Yes, I am," she scowled. "And no one is going anywhere except into that stadium!" She pointed towards a doorway just as three people walked out. "Hello, Penelope. Parker. Thank you for organising this tribute to my son, Miss Fordbury."

"It's been more than a pleasure," Pen Fordbury said and her smile widened. "Jeff! It's wonderful to see you."

"And I'm pleased to see you," he replied, giving her a hug of greeting. "Thanks for keeping the ship afloat while I've been gone."

"I only hope I haven't steered it onto any rocks." Pen beamed at the assembled group. "Everyone's seated and is waiting for the guest of honour. You're going to love it! It's amazing the number of people who have volunteered to take part." She turned to Brains. "I've checked your, ah, equipment. It's still under the stage where you left it. What is it for?"

"It's a, er, exp-periment I'm working on." Brains groped about for a suitable explanation. "I-I'm, ah t-testing, ah…"

"I'll tell you all about it if it turns out to be a marketable commodity," Jeff said, relieving the engineer of the need to fabricate an answer. "Brains is taking the opportunity of having a large crowd of people present to test a theory."

"Sounds very mysterious," Pen said. "But knowing your work, Brains, I'm sure it will be a success." She looked around the group. "Is everyone ready?"

"Everyone got their scripts?" Scott asked. His brothers made positive noises of varying degrees and patted their pockets.

"Yep." Gordon pulled a pack of playing cards out of his pocket and riffled them. "Hey!" he complained when Scott grabbed the pack. "That's my script!"

"Gordon! Can't you behave for once in your life?" Scott handed the cards to Kyrano. "This is Father's day and you are NOT going to spoil it. Not after all the work Pen's put into putting it together."

"And she's done a marvellous job too," Gordon said. He gave Jeff's personal assistant a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for everything you've done, Pen."

For a moment Pen Fordbury lost her composure. Her hand went to her cheek and she froze, her eyes shining. She blushed deeply before a smile crept onto her face. Everyone was too busy tidying themselves to notice her reaction. All except Grandma Tracy who filed it away in her memory banks for future consideration.

"Where do you want us, Pen?" Jeff asked. "Pen?"

"Huh? Oh! Sorry, Jeff," Pen regained her senses. "I was thinking about something else."

"Are you all right?" he asked with concern. "You look a little flushed. Have you been overdoing it?"

"Oh, no. I'm perfectly all right…" Pen beamed. "If you will all follow me," she led the way into the stadium's interior where she indicated a door. "If the Tracys wouldn't mind waiting in the Green Room, I'll escort everyone else to their seats. Make yourselves comfortable," she said gaily. "I won't be long."

Virgil removed his hat and flopped into a seat. "She can take as long as she wants."

Alan found a jug and some glasses. "Anyone want a drink of water?"

"They haven't got anything stronger have they?" Virgil asked.

"Nope." Alan gave a glass to his brother and poured one for himself.

"Relax, Virgil," Jeff said as he tapped his cane lightly on the ground. "Just close your eyes and pretend you're at home performing to us. You'll be fine."

Alan put on his 'I'm pretending to be acting innocent' face. "Why'd you sneak back into the auditorium this morning, Gordon?"

"Shhh," Gordon hissed. "You'll spoil the surprise." He ran his finger around the collar of his shirt.

"Really?" Alan asked, sipping at his water. "Is it a good one?"

Gordon tapped the side of his nose. "It'll be music to our ears…"

Virgil groaned.

"Stop teasing your brother, you two," Jeff ordered, tapping his cane. "We're all nervous enough as it is, without you making things worse."

"I honestly don't know why you're nervous," Scott told him. "All you and Grandma have to do is sit back and look dignified. We're the ones likely to make fools of ourselves…" He grabbed Virgil's collar as his brother tried to make an escape. "Virgil! Sit down!"

"You can all take off your hats," Jeff advised. "You won't need to be disguised to that extent once you're on stage. Brains' devices will make sure no one can take your photos. Just leave your sunglasses on." His cane tapped again.

"Just as well it's an outdoor stadium and it's a sunny day," Alan said. "We'd look like right idiots otherwise." He poured himself another glass of water.

"I only wish it wasn't so hot," Gordon said as he fanned himself with his hat. He ran his finger around his collar again.

---F-A-B---

"These are your seats." Pen indicated the front row.

Lady Penelope gave the World President a gracious wave and then looked around. "Is that the Prime Minister I see? And there's that nice Bill Webber." She waved again. "It looks as though you may have a full house."

"Not quite, but close," Pen admitted. She wrung her hands together. "I hope Jeff enjoys this. When I took it on I hadn't realised that it was going to be such a big affair and it's been a challenge to try to pull it together at such short notice. I thought that maybe we'd manage to fill the town hall, but I kept on getting requests from people of all walks of life wanting to show their respects. There're representatives from various charities, individuals he's helped, people who've gained the courage to start their own businesses because of his mentoring schemes, hospitals, schools, conservation organisations, heritage groups… I don't think Jeff realises how many people he's touched over the years." She wrung her hands again. "I hope it goes smoothly."

Lady Penelope patted her on the hand. "Relax, Dear. I'm sure it will be simply marvellous."

Pen turned her attention to the people who were being seated at the far end of the row. "Wouldn't you prefer a more central seat, Tin-Tin? You'd be able to see everything much better."

Tin-Tin smiled at the hostess. "I am fine, thank you, Miss Fordbury. I don't mind sitting next to Parker."

"Are you comfortable, Mr Kyrano?" Pen asked.

He inclined his head. "Thank you, Miss Fordbury. This seat is most comfortable."

When Pen hurried away to check some urgent detail, Parker leant closer to his seating companion. "Nervous, Miss Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin nodded. "I'm nearly as bad as Virgil."

"You'll be h-all right," he reassured her. "H-And H-I'll make sure you get there h-in plenty h-of time."

"Thank you, Parker."

Brains pulled a small camera from out of his pocket and took a photo of the stage. Then he examined the resulting image. "Perfect," he smiled.

"Perfect, Brains?" Lady Penelope enquired.

He showed her the display. "I-I've had a couple of cloaking devices p-positioned under the stage. If anyone takes a ph-photo or video then it will be slightly out of focus. The only exception is th-that." He pointed at the large stadium screen that was positioned at the back of the stage. "B-But if anyone videos or ph-photographs that, they will see the same effect."

"Ensuring that no one has a record of the boys' faces. Very clever," Lady Penelope congratulated him. "Are you making a recording for Jeff?"

"Y-Yes. We're taking the feed from the s-same camera."

Pen had returned. "Well…" She surveyed the multitudes that were waiting patiently and took a deep breath. "Time to start. Fingers crossed everyone."

---F-A-B---

Virgil had vacated his seat and was pacing. "I wish this place had a keyboard so I could practise one more time."

"Pretend," Grandma suggested. "Calm down, sit down and pretend to play the piano."

Virgil shrugged. The idea seemed ridiculous enough to work. "Okay." He sat back down, took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and froze. "I can't remember! What's the first chord of the Thunderbirds March?!"

"Is it G?" Alan asked.

"Can't be. That's my initial," Gordon teased, still fanning his hat.

Alan grinned. "A?"

"That's yours."

"Perhaps it's 'V'?"

"Or 'S'?"

"Or 'J'?"

"There's no such thing!" Virgil snapped, and then hesitated. "Is there?"

"Gordon! Alan!" Jeff rapped his cane. "Stop teasing him!"

"I've forgotten!" Virgil panicked. "I've forgotten how to play the piano! What chords are there? What are the notes…?"

"Virgil…" Scott got out of his chair and crouched down in front of his anxious brother. "Don't listen to these two; they're only winding you up. Now calm down. I promise that once you're sitting at the piano everything will click into place and you'll wonder what you were worrying about."

"Sure?"

Scott smiled. "I'm sure." He patted Virgil on the arm.

"I don't understand why you're getting so stressed." Alan walked over to the table that held the water jugs and poured himself another drink. "You never used to worry about exams or school concerts."

"They weren't performed in front of 100 thousand people!"

"You'll feel better once you've got the feeling of the place," Gordon offered. "It's not like you're going to perform cold turkey… like Scott."

"Gordon's right," Scott agreed. "You're not going to be performing it cold turkey…" His head snapped around to his red-headed brother. "What?!"

"You're up first. Didn't you read the programme Pen left here?" Gordon waved a small booklet and opened it. "It says here that there's a welcome by the MC and then it's a recitation of 'the early years' by Scott Tracy…"

"No way! That's not what we rehearsed!" Scott grabbed the programme out of Gordon's hands. "I'm not first! I can't be!"

"You're first born," Alan reminded him. "It's logical." He slurped his water.

"But surely she could have got someone else to do something first? Someone could have sung a song, or done a dance, or played the piano, or…"

"Calm down, Scott," Virgil said, switching his concerns from himself to his brother. "You've got nothing to worry about."

"I'm up first!" Scott started to pace. "I've got to speak in front of thousands of people! Of all the crazy ideas! We spend our lives trying to avoid publicity and here we are parading ourselves in front of one hundred thousand people!"

"No one will be able to recognise you." Jeff continued tapping his cane on the floor. "Brains has that under control. Relax. Everything will be okay."

"Use the old trick," Gordon suggested. "Imagine everyone in the audience is naked… Is it me or is it getting hotter?"

Scott turned to him. "Lady Penelope's sitting in the front row. I can't imagine her naked!"

Alan smirked. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it…"

"Alan!" his grandmother scolded and he ducked as if she'd cuffed his ear, nearly spilling his water.

Scott looked at his youngest brother. "Tin-Tin's in the front row."

"Tin-Tin!" Alan's expression promised personal injury to anyone who imagined his girlfriend anything less than fully clothed.

"I thought that would wipe that smirk off your face," Scott snapped.

"Calm down, Scott," Virgil soothed. "She'll take care of her!"

Scott appeared to be able to make some sense of this statement. "I hope so."

"Just remember that she's had the best teacher she could wish for."

"But there's a lot to remember…"

"She wouldn't have offered if she wasn't confident that she could do it. Relax! They'll both be fine. There's nothing to worry about."

Jeff was by now totally confused at the direction the conversation was taking. "Calm down, Boys. I have faith in you all," he said. "Everything will be fine as long as you keep calm and don't antagonise each other." He gave Alan a meaningful glance.

"He started it," Alan muttered, his face still screwed up in a petulant scowl.

Jeff rapped his cane on the floor.

"I need a drink." Scott grabbed a glass and tried to pour himself some water. He succeeded in spilling most of it.

"Here, let me," Grandma signed. "Goodness. I don't know what's got into you boys."

"Performance anxiety." John had claimed a chair as soon as he'd entered the Green Room and, resting his head against the wall, had closed his eyes. This was the first thing he'd said since they'd entered and everyone looked at him. Apart from speaking, he hadn't moved.

"The zombie lives!" Gordon exclaimed.

John ignored him. "You do realise that if Mousetopheles was here he'd think that Christmas had arrived early?"

"How can you be so relaxed, John?" Alan asked.

John didn't open his eyes or move. "I am transcending this world with meditation. I am centring my mind. And in my mind's eye I am living my performance. I am visualising every moment. I am remembering the words I shall speak. I am imagining the acclaim I shall receive. I am listening to you all act like idiots." He opened his eyes a crack. "Why didn't you listen when Kyrano was teaching us all this?" He closed his eyes again.

Scott was sorely tempted to empty his glass of water over his brother.

"You seem pretty calm too," Alan said to Gordon. "Aren't you nervous?"

"Calm? I'm sweating bullets and I'm shaking like a leaf!" Gordon held out his hands. "But we're unlikely to see the cucumbers," he indicated Scott and Virgil, "stressing like this again, so I'm enjoying it while I can."

Alan downed the last of his water and got up to get himself a refill.

"Would you mind pouring me one?" Gordon asked. When he received the glass he took out his clean handkerchief and dunked it in the glass. "I need to cool down," he explained as he wiped his face.

"Once I've got my hands on the piano, I know I'll be all right," Virgil said; as much to convince himself as anyone else.

"Of course you will," Scott agreed. "And once I've got my bit out of the way I can sit back and enjoy the show."

"That's better." Jeff was still tapping the floor with his cane. "Relax and don't worry about it."

"You realise that it's your fault that they're in a flap," Gordon said, placing his cold compress on his forehead.

"They're in a flap?" Scott asked.

"Okay, we're in a flap. We all want to do our best for you, Dad."

"I know, and I appreciate it. But don't worry about impressing me. Be yourselves." The cane was beating its tattoo on the floor again.

It got too much for Grandma. "Jefferson! Stop that!"

He looked at her in bemusement. "Stop what?"

She reached out and took the black walking stick from him. "Hitting this on the floor!"

"Hitting? I wasn't hitting anything."

She humphed. "You're as bad as your sons."

"Bother!" Alan held up the jug. "We've run out."

"Just as well!" Gordon was pressing his handkerchief against the back of his neck. "If you have any more water you'll float!"

"Ah…" Alan looked thoughtful. "I think I already am. Anyone know where the…?"

"On the other side of the corridor," Gordon told him.

"Thanks." Alan pulled the door open and found himself face-to-face with Pen Fordbury. "Excuse me," he said as he pushed past her.

Pen watched him disappear through the door opposite. "He appears to be in a hurry."

"Are you ready for us?" Jeff asked.

"Yes. Everything's ready and…" Pen's sentence was cut short as four Tracy sons followed their youngest brother past her and into the room on the other side of the hall.

"Can I have my stick back, Mother?" Jeff asked as he stood. "If you ladies will excuse me," he gave an apologetic smile. "I'm just, ah… going… I'll be back in a moment." He too escaped the room.

Grandma gave Pen an exasperated look. "Nerves," she explained.

* * *

Despite their perceived concerns, each of the Tracys performed above their own expectations. Scott had buried his doubts before striding out onto the stage, still wearing his sunglasses and with his script held firmly in his hand. A surreptitious thumbs-up from Brains had restored his well known self-confidence and he'd acquitted himself with ease and good humour. 

John had listed Jeff's achievements as an astronaut and then performed, a cappella, a song he'd composed especially for this day. He sat down again to an enthusiastic round of applause and surprised looks from his brothers. "See," he said smugly. "Keep calm and you can do anything."

Virgil had been more than a little relieved to get his hands on the piano. His first touch of the keys had reinstated his confidence and his rendition of the 'Thunderbird's March' (or 'T' March as it was listed in the programme) was as warmly received as John's performance had been.

Gordon had alarmed his family by beginning with "A funny thing happened on the way to the stadium…" but they'd relaxed when he'd continued with "I travelled with a man who had died. He reminded me of when I was a kid." He proceeded to regale the audience with tales of what it was like growing up with Jeff Tracy as their father – missing out references to 'assault and battery', 'car theft', 'rape' and 'murder'.

Alan's recitation concerned his father's various business exploits, his many achievements and his rare failures. When he'd finished he returned to his seat and stated, "I hope you're enjoying watching this, Mousetopheles!"

"He'd need an asbestos periscope if he was," Gordon said.

Lucille Tracy's death had been glossed over. International Rescue was ignored.

Next up was the man the critics had dubbed 'the next Makisi'. He had made his start in the operatic world when he'd received a scholarship from one of Jeff Tracy's trusts. As a gesture of thanks he had offered to sing 'Nessun Dorma' and, much to John's relief, the offer had been accepted.

Others who had benefited from Jeff's generosity over the years had offered their services as a tribute. A children's group performed a dance in Jeff's honour. People of all ages sang, danced and spoke of how Jeff had helped and supported them.

Sam Watson, the man undergoing cancer therapy and the instigator of the memoriam books, was Tracy Industries' representative. He spoke of how Jeff Tracy was a hard working man, a considerate employer, approachable, and loyal to his employees; in turn inspiring loyalty from them. When he'd finished he was assisted off the stage and past where Jeff was sitting.

Jeff stood. "Thank you, Sam."

"The pleasure was all mine, Jeff. And I meant every word… And I will ask you to remember that I'm the one who's supposed to die first, not you."

Jeff smiled. "Whoever's the first to go, let's hope it's not for a few decades yet."

Colonel Tim Casey relived the Air Force years, and many more spoke of their friendship with Jeff Tracy and the inspiration and support that he'd given them.

Jeff found that he was enjoying himself and was disappointed when the show was all but over. "I hope Brains is getting a video of this," he whispered to his mother.

"And now," the MC announced. "I would like to present to you the guest of honour… Mr Jeff Tracy!"

"I'm not going out there alone," Jeff told his family. "You're coming to support me." He held out his hand. "Will you accompany me, Mother?"

"They don't want to see an old woman, Jeff. They want to see you."

"And if it wasn't for you I wouldn't be here. Come on," he insisted. "You too, Boys." They all filed out onto the centre of the stage and stood there, feeling and looking more uncomfortable than they had when they were performing.

John pretended to scratch his ear, placing his watch close to his mouth. "Go, Tin-Tin."

He heard her say "F-A-B" into his earpiece.

Jeff stepped up to the microphone and prepared to speak.

There was a rumble of thunder.

Instinctively everyone looked to the skies, but they were clear and blue.

The rumble, instead of dissipating, appeared to be getting louder. Jeff recognised the sound and looked down at the seats in the front row. Two were empty.

To the accompaniment of exclamations from the large crowd, Thunderbird One cruised above the stadium.

Gordon, laughing, nudged Alan. "Look at Scott's face!"

Scott was smiling, but the smile was as authentic as a cardboard cut out. His anxious eyes watched as his rocket plane reached the end of its flight path, gained altitude, did a u-turn and then, rolling over as it did so, retraced its course.

This final manoeuvre was too much for the Rescue Coordinator. Scott's smile vanished and he rounded on his brothers. "Who taught her how to do a barrel roll!?" he hissed.

"Smile, Scott." Gordon demonstrated and waved to no one in the crowd. "You're being watched."

"I thought it was an excellent barrel roll," Virgil said.

"By an excellent pilot," Alan added.

Jeff switched off the microphone and turned it away before he walked over to his sons. "Thank you, Boys."

"Well," John kept his voice at a volume so it could only just be heard above the excited babble of the audience. "We figured that if the world couldn't be given the opportunity to say thank you to the man behind International Rescue, then the least International Rescue could do was acknowledge him."

"It's been quite a day," Jeff said. "Thank you all for what you've done… The concert was an excellent idea, Virgil. I've enjoyed every minute of it."

Virgil gave a sheepish grin. "I've enjoyed it too. Maybe I should consider a career change."

Jeff looked at his eldest, who still appeared to be slightly stressed. "I'm sure Tin-Tin's taking good care of her, Scott." He gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Scott's managed a numb nod.

Jeff turned back to the microphone and the crowd fell silent. "Well," he began. "That was an unexpected surprise." He looked out over his audience. "I don't know what to say… A week ago I was in the company of people who were, at best, indifferent to me: at worst, despised me. And if it hadn't been for the people standing behind and those who have been enjoying this spectacle from the front row, I could well have started to believe that I was simply the son of a Kansas wheat farmer who meant nothing to the world… But as I sat here today, listening and watching these wonderfully talented performers give up their time, and as I stand here now looking out at all of you whom I hope I can call my friends… Well, this son of a Kansas wheat farmer is feeling pretty thankful and pretty darn lucky.

"In fact," Jeff Tracy continued, a beaming smile on his face, "I suppose I could say that I must be the luckiest man alive…"

_The end._

_I write these stories because I enjoy the process of writing. Also because I like to see what trouble I can get International Rescue into, AND if I can get them out of it again in a realistic manner. Reviews, to me, are the icing on the cake (a pretty addictive icing after a while), so __thank you to everyone who took the time to send me one (in some cases more than one). I've enjoyed receiving them and got a few laughs from the guesses that you've made as to what happened to Jeff Tracy._

_Once again I'd like to thank Quiller for all her help and support with this marathon of a piece and I'd like to apologise to all my readers for the trauma I've caused. _

_Now it's time to start concentrating on another story. Who can I beat up this time? Here, Virgil..._

_  
FAB_

:-)

_Purupuss  
_


	21. Epilogue

_I, like everyone else, thought that I'd completed Lodestar Lost. Then I received a review suggesting an epilogue. (Thank you, KMWRoad.) Well, my muse must have liked the chocolate fudge… I mean idea because she's produced 19 extra pages._

_F-A-B_

:-)

_Purupuss_

**Epilogue**

Alone in his studio, Virgil Tracy picked up the flat piece of wood with the scalloped edges and inspected its paintwork for blemishes. Satisfied by the white satin finish he sharpened a pencil and prepared to draw… only to be interrupted by two of his brothers.

"Whadareya up to, Virg?" Gordon asked.

"Making the sign," Virgil explained, silently cursing the fact that he hadn't locked his door.

"I'm glad Dad decided he wanted us all together for a few days longer." Alan was examining some of the sketches that lined the walls; concentrating on the family portraits. "Or at least we will be together when he and Scott get back from the States."

Gordon ignored his little brother, folded his arms and fixed Virgil with a hard stare. "When are you going to get the sign finished? You've had a couple of weeks to work on it, and these last two days Dad hasn't even been home to see what you're doing! We'll want to get the dedication ceremony over and done with before you head up to Thunderbird Five to do Alan's shift."

Virgil briefly mused on the fact that if he was up on Thunderbird Five at this precise moment he'd have the necessary peace and quiet to complete that very task. He opened his mouth to remind Gordon exactly why there hadn't been any opportunities, when the arrival of his two older brothers further destroyed all hopes of privacy.

"Hey, Scott," Alan was saying. "When did you get back?"

"Just flew in," Scott explained.

"Where's Dad?" Gordon asked.

Scott hesitated. "He's gone up to the lookout."

"Jefferson Lookout," John expanded. "He took one of the hoverbikes."

"Huh?" Gordon looked between the pair of them. "Why?"

"It hasn't been an easy few days for him," Scott explained. "He found out more than he wanted to know… than either of us wanted to know. He got me to fly the plane back to Tracy Island."

"He let you fly?!" Alan, like his brothers, found this bit of information more than a little disconcerting. When Jeff Tracy was in one of his planes he preferred to be in control, and even Scott, who regarded being co-pilot as something akin to travelling third class, would be forced to kowtow to his father's wishes. For Jeff to not want to be the pilot meant that something was definitely bothering him.

Virgil laid down the still pristine sign and sat on the edge of his worktable. "Why? What happened? Is there something wrong with Tracy Industries?"

"No, that's fine," Scott replied. "Pen Fordbury kept a tight hold on the reins while we were moping about here."

"Is his leg causing him trouble?"

"No… It's what he was told about Mousetopheles that's knocked him."

"And what was he told?" John asked.

Scott pulled out a chair, removed some sketches, twirled it around so he was able to lean forward on the back, and sat down as his brothers made themselves comfortable. "Mousetopheles has been keeping scrapbooks… well, files, on us, as well as keeping a diary of his daily thoughts…"

"That must be a slim volume," Gordon interrupted.

"The District Attorney dealing with Father's kidnapping thought he should know what was in those books in case they got into the public domain," Scott explained, "and before the relevant ones are brought out at Miles' and Earl's trials… Whenever that's going to be."

"Scrapbooks," Alan said. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"It's not the newspaper clippings that are the problem," Scott told him. "They're pretty much the same ones that Grandma's got. It's the comments that Brett's made against them that hurt… Especially the ones about Ma's death."

The five Tracy sons were silent for a moment as they recollected Angus Brett's taunts about that painful time.

Scott hesitated, weighing up whether or not he was speaking out of turn. "His diary…" He stopped.

"Yes?" John asked.

"No," Scott waved a dismissive hand. "Forget it."

"How can we forget it if you haven't told us what 'it' is?" Alan asked.

"What about his diary, Scott?" Virgil prompted.

"Brett… Mousetopheles…" Scott was struggling with the revelation. He gripped the back of his seat and stared at the floor so he was avoiding his brothers' eyes. "He said in his diary that he danced on Ma's grave."

"What…?"

"Why that…" a crimson flush began to creep up John's face.

"Calm down, John," Virgil soothed. "He can't hurt us now."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Remember that he got what was owing to him."

With an effort John brought his temper back under control. "I'd like to dance on his grave," he growled.

"I'd like to hold a dance on his grave," Alan stated. "And sell tickets. The proceeds could go to the fund Dad set up for those affected by the plane crash."

Virgil looked at his eldest brother. By the expression on his face he'd struggled with the revelations of the last few days as much as their father. "Are you okay, Scott?"

"Yeah…" Scott released his grip on the chair and flexed his fingers to get the feeling back into them. "I'm fine… It's just… It seems…" he began, and then paused. "It seems that Mousetopheles has harboured this hatred for Father, and then for the rest of us, since the day they first met."

"But why?" John asked. "What did Dad do to him? What had any of us done to him?"

"Apart from getting him locked away?" Scott gave a wry grin. "I don't know. I just know that ever since Dad was shown those files and the diary excerpts he's been pretty quiet."

"He didn't mention International Rescue, did he?" Virgil asked. "I mean, Mousetopheles hasn't mentioned us in the diary or a scrapbook?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Alan frowned. "What exactly do you mean by 'not exactly'?"

"Penny and Parker were at the hearing. After it was over they showed us one folder that the District Attorney hasn't seen."

"International Rescue?" Gordon guessed.

"Yeah," Scott nodded. "Parker had the presence of mind to take it from Mousetopheles' briefcase when they were hit by the flood. It starts about the time that Alan gave us away."

"I'm sorry, Guys," Alan admitted, not for the first time.

"It's not your fault, Alan," John reminded him. "If we had believed you in the first place things would have been a lot different."

"Yes," Gordon agreed. "They could have been worse."

Virgil wasn't reassured. "And there's nothing in the diary linking us to International Rescue?"

Scott shook his head. "The D.A. didn't mention anything and he showed us the last few entries. Brett was in too much of a state to write much."

"You know?" Alan began, a thoughtful expression on his face. "When I was thinking about making a will I was going to go to Brett, but Dad talked me out of it. He said I'd be better going to someone closer to my age."

"Yeah!" Gordon remembered. "Me too. He told me I'd be better getting someone at Marineville to handle it. Even then he must have been more than a little concerned about Mousetopheles' dealings."

"How's the investigation into Miles and Earl going?" John asked.

"It's going to take months, if not years, before the D.A.'s got the case together. He's going to apply for leave to let Father give his testimony via video link."

"It doesn't seem right that he's got to testify against those guys after what he's been through," Alan said.

"The D.A. wants to make sure the assault charges against Miles stick. Including the charge of assault against the International Rescue operative; since he can't be found to give evidence himself." Scott ruffled his youngest brother's hair affectionately forcing Alan, with a grimace, to run his fingers through it to comb it back into place.

"Can't they link Miles to the plane crash?" Gordon asked. "All those people who were killed… Surely that's enough to lock him away for the next few centuries?"

"It would be if they could find something to prove that he was involved with the plot… They've got enough evidence to prove that the engineer who worked on Father's plane was involved in the scheme."

"So the little guy'll get locked up," John exclaimed in disgust, "while the scumbags who organised the whole operation go free?"

"No…" At his brothers' confused looks Scott hastened to explain. "He was found in his car at the bottom of a cliff."

"Dead?" Virgil guessed.

"Uh, huh. Apparently he'd offered to turn State's evidence if he was given a lesser sentence. Of course the crash was an accident. The roads were wet. It was night time…"

"Of course," Gordon said dryly. He pointed out the window. "Look! A flying pig!"

"The D.A.'s taking the line that Father's life will be in danger if he's in the States before and during the trial. He's decided that all further communications are to be via teleconferencing."

John shifted his long legs. "So he won't be heading back to office in the short term?"

"You know Father; it'll take more than death threats to keep him down," Scott said. "But, even so…" he shrugged. "He needs something to cheer him up. How're preparations coming along?"

"They'd be coming along great if Virgil would finish the sign!" Gordon scowled.

"They'd be coming along great if I could have a few minutes peace and quiet to finish the sign," Virgil amended.

John ignored the potential argument. "We've got the basics ironed out. We're just waiting for you to get back before we set things in concrete."

"Grandma's been cooking up a storm," Alan added.

Virgil groaned. "It's been murder; all those wonderful smells coming out of the kitchen… Between that, Grandma cooking Father's favourites to welcome him home, and her cooking Brains' favourites to apologise for all she's said about him," he patted his tummy. "I'm taking one step forward and two steps back!"

"Make them quicker and you'll burn up more calories," Gordon suggested.

John prodded Scott's midriff. "Is that why he's managed to regain weight quicker than you've lost it?"

"Gerroff," Scott growled, knocking his brother's hand away. "Do you think you can get the sign finished by tomorrow, Virg?"

Virgil shrugged. "If I keep it simple."

"That'll do. He's not into flowery stuff."

Alan looked up at Scott. "Did you get everything we ordered?"

"Yep, I got everything. I managed to sneak away from the office long enough so I could pick it up and stash it in the plane where he wouldn't see it…"

---F-A-B---

"What are you doing up here, Mother?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing, Jeff." Ignoring the view of the Pacific Ocean, Grandma sat down on the wooden seat beside her son and looked at him with concern.

"I needed to think," he admitted.

"How's your leg?" Her elderly face creased even more with worry.

"It's okay."

"Then why did you use the hoverbike?"

"I'm tired," he confessed. "It's been a tiring couple of days. I couldn't be bothered walking."

She took his hand. "Didn't things go well at work?"

Jeff gave a wry grin. "Everything's fine. Pen Fordbury had done such a good job looking after things that I don't know why I bothered going back." He chuckled. "It was Scott who was the problem. He was into everything, determined to do everything and wanting to learn as much as possible. He was more of a hindrance than a help."

She smiled at the image. "He won't admit it, but he was lost without you to guide him."

"So I gathered. And I will train him up… I'll train them all. But that wasn't the time. I eventually kicked him out and told him to leave us alone." Jeff laughed. "Pen confided in me that boss's son or not, she was almost ready to throw him out herself!"

"I'll be betting that if it was Gordon getting underfoot she wouldn't be thinking that."

"Huh?!" Jeff stared at his mother. "What do you mean?"

"That young lady has her eye on your son, Jeff."

"Pen Fordbury and… and Gordon?!"

She sighed. "You're a typical man. Can't see what's in front of your nose."

"Do you think he feels the same about her?"

"I would imagine that Gordon hasn't given himself the opportunity to even notice her. He'd be too eager to hit the town and catch up with his old friends."

Jeff stared out over the ocean, a reflective frown on his face. "You are probably right."

Grandma squeezed his hand. "You know I am. Not that I'd complain if they did get together. She's a lovely lady and it might be the only way I'm ever going to get any great-grandchildren! Alan's hopeless when it comes to romancing Tin-Tin!"

Jeff didn't appear to hear her. "After all that's happened I had considered telling her about International Rescue," he admitted. "It would have solved a lot of problems over the last month if she'd known how to get in contact with everyone. Since then I've even considered asking her to work from here, on the island… until the trial is over anyway… But in light of what you've said…"

"You'd have to ask Pen first," Grandma reminded him. "She might not agree to the move. Not everyone can handle being isolated out in the middle of nowhere away from the world. And, as you said, she knows her job and can work well unsupervised. If I were you I'd keep the status quo in the meantime… And as for telling her about International Rescue… Only you can make that decision."

Jeff gave a slight nod; his gaze still firmly fixed on the Pacific's waters.

"So," Grandma tapped him on the hand to ensure she had his attention. "If there were no problems at work, what is bothering you, Jefferson?"

He sighed and wrapped her small hand in both of his. "Scott and I went to see the District Attorney. Putting it bluntly he wants to see Miles and Earl behind bars…"

"Don't we all?"

"And he's concerned for my safety until the trial is over. He doesn't want me to leave the island…" Jeff stood and took two steps towards the edge of the lookout, letting the sea breeze blow across his face. "He wants me to testify by video link." He swung back so he was facing his mother. "I love it here, but I don't want to be held prisoner in my own home!"

His mother stood and walked over to his side. "There are a lot of people who wouldn't consider living on a tropical island a prison."

"Wasn't it you who just said that not everyone likes the idea of being isolated away from the world?"

"That's true, I did. But you're not everyone. You can work quite well from here. You've done it in the past…"

"But it's the principle of the thing!" Jeff snapped. Then he bit his lip. "Sorry, Ma."

"That's all right, Honey. I understand."

Jeff returned to the wooden seat and sat down again. He stared at his hands. "It's not only that…"

Grandma reclaimed her seat. "I thought there was more to it." She laid a hand on his arm. "Tell me, Jeff."

"The D.A. showed me some of Brett's effects. Diaries, files… records he's kept. Things about me, about us, about the boys, Lucille…"

"International Rescue?"

"No. Parker managed to grab that folder before I was rescued."

Grandma sat silently and waited for him to speak again.

Jeff clenched his fists. "I've been trying to work out what I'd done to him to cause him to hate me so much. I've always tried to be fair in my dealings with other people; both in daily life and with business. I know that I was a little… self-centred in my younger years, but I think… I hope that I've never done anyone any harm." He squinted up into the sky against the sun. "The D.A. thinks that he was jealous of what I had; the career that I wanted, a wife who loved me and I was crazy about, wonderful, talented kids; parents…" as he placed his hand over hers his smile didn't reach his eyes, "who, although they had their concerns about what I was doing, supported me all the way. Going through Brett's diary it appears he didn't have any of that and he hated the fact that I did."

"Jeff," Grandma squeezed his arm lightly before speaking in a soft voice. "That was only one man and he was obviously deranged. Even Miles and Earl didn't have anything against you personally; they were only interested in you for what they could get out of you." She indicated the complex that lay at their feet. "There's your whole extended family down there who love you and care for you. The whole world," she made a sweeping gesture, "even though they don't know who you are, admires you and respects you and what you've created. Angus Brett was only one man in billions…"

"One man who did a lot of damage to my family." Jeff looked at his mother's careworn face. "We could have lost all this. The family could have been destroyed."

"But we didn't and we weren't, Jeff. Remember that," she urged. "Because you meant enough to Alan, and Penelope, and Parker to try and find out the truth!"

Jeff shivered as the breeze intensified. "I'm getting cold. I'm going home. Do you want to take the hoverbike?"

"No, thank you. It's a lovely evening. I'll walk." She looked at her watch. "By the time I get back dinner should be just on ready. I'd set the timer."

"I'll skip dinner tonight, if you don't mind." Jeff stood. "I think I'll go straight to my room."

"Jeff?" Mrs Tracy looked up at him in concern.

He took her hand. "I'm all right, Mother. I'm just tired. I'm getting too old for traipsing halfway around the world and back again. Maybe having to stay on the island will be a blessing in disguise." He squeezed her hand and released it. "I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

Grandma Tracy walked into Virgil's studio. "Is this where everyone is?"

Her grandsons, the Kyranos and Brains all looked up. "How is he?" Scott asked.

"Angus Brett is preying on his mind." Grandma pursed her lips together tightly. "He's decided that he's old, he's tired, and he's not going to have dinner with us and has gone to bed. When are you going to do it?"

Scott picked up that notes that were in front of him. "In light of what you've just said, I'd say it's got to be tomorrow afternoon… This is what we want you to do, Grandma…"

* * *

---F-A-B---

Jeff Tracy sat at his desk and looked at the mountain of paperwork that he'd brought back with him from Tracy Industries' head office. He knew he should make a start but didn't feel that he had the energy or inclination. Instead he picked up the wedding photograph that resided on his desk. Running his fingers around the outline of his late wife's face, he tried to dispel the unfamiliar sensations of frustration, despair, anger, and hatred.

His mother watched him in concern. "Are you all right, Jeff?"

He didn't look at her; his attention remained fixed on the photo. "Yes."

She watched him a moment longer before making her decision. "What you need, Jefferson Tracy, is to get some fresh air!"

"I'm all right," he mumbled.

"No, you are not! You're like a walking zombie!" She strode over to his desk and positioned herself squarely in front. "You and I are going for a walk!"

"I need to do all this work." Jeff didn't take his eyes of the picture.

"What you need to do is get out of this place for a bit! Now put that photograph down before I take it from you!"

He looked up at her; his eyes dull. "But, Mother…"

"But, nothing. I am going for a walk and I am taking the coastal track. If you want me to stumble along atop those bluffs alone…"

This was something that Jeff didn't want. He respected his mother, and, for her age, was amazed by her fitness and agility, but he always worried when she would go out walking alone. He sighed, and with obvious reluctance, replaced the photo. "Give me a moment to change my shoes."

"I'll meet you back here in five minutes."

* * *

Their walk was slow and measured. Together Grandma and Jeff had traversed half of the coastal track when Grandma declared that she was getting cold and would like to begin the homeward journey.

Jeff was feeling marginally more cheerful, but every time he reflected on how much he loved his island, his reflections would turn to how close he'd come to losing it. Thoughts on losing Tracy Island invariably led to contemplations about Angus Brett and why he'd built up such a complete hatred of the Tracy family. He said none of this, preferring to walk in silence, musing on his own thoughts.

They were level with the villa when Grandma's watch beeped. She took her son's arm. "Let's go up to the lookout."

Jeff had already attempted one step towards his home. "But I thought you were cold?"

"I've warmed up now I'm out of the wind. Come on, Jeff. It'll be dark soon. That's one thing I liked about living in the States; the long evenings. We just don't get them here and I do like a nice long sunset."

"I won't be seeing any long sunsets for a while." The morose tone in his voice was unmistakable.

"Well, then we'll have to make do with short ones. Come on, Jeff," Grandma repeated. "I'll need your help to get me down the track after dark."

"What about dinner?" he asked. "The boys will be starving."

"They can wait. If they're that hungry, they can get something themselves. We didn't raise any of them to be helpless in the kitchen." Grandma pulled on his arm. "Let's go."

Deciding that his mother was the most stubborn person that he'd ever met, Jeff Tracy allowed himself to be led towards the path leading up to the lookout.

They were halfway up the track when he became aware that something wasn't as it should be. At first he dismissed the sound as just the noise of the wind through the trees and grasses; but the higher they ascended the more pronounced the music became. Then Jeff heard something else… The dulcet tone of a young female voice was singing along with the unknown musician.

"What…?" Jeff began, but his mother tightened her grip on his arm and kept climbing.

They reached the final bend where the track doubled back on itself, and as he looked up to the summit of the path, Jeff saw Kyrano, his 'di' bamboo flute to his lips, accompanying Tin-Tin's vocal solo. Neither acknowledged the two people climbing the track.

Mrs Tracy made no comment about this unusual situation and continued walking.

Now, as the lookout was once again obscured from view, the haunting melody ceased, only to be replaced by a quiet introduction from a piano. A tenor began to sing, and as he heard the first words of 'Nessun Dorma', Jeff and his mother crested the hill and came out onto the open ground of the lookout.

Jeff's mouth fell open.

The singer, Jeff had already guessed that it must be John, was standing on the single flat-topped boulder that rested on the promontory that jutted out over the Pacific Ocean. He was silhouetted against the sun, which hung low in the sky, and its beams shone through his blonde hair giving the appearance of a halo. The additional height the boulder gave him helped create the illusion that he was suspended in mid air; and as he held the final long note, John spread his arms wide and the voluminous sleeves of his shirt, glowing white with the light behind, took on the form of wings.

As the last note dissipated into the Pacific breeze, John smiled at his stunned father. "Hi, Dad. Take a seat."

"Huh?" Jeff looked around. Arranged so that they formed an amphitheatre, facing each other but opening out towards the Tracy home and the ocean, were a variety of chairs. Two of these burgundy clothed seats were already occupied. "Penny? Parker?" Jeff stared at them. "When did you get here?"

Lady Penelope smiled. "I believe that this may not be the time for questions, Jeff."

"Huh?" Bemused, Jeff looked about him. "What's going on?" he asked Gordon and Alan who had stepped forward to guide him from his mother's care.

"You'll find out soon enough," Gordon grinned.

"Yep! In the meantime this is where the guest of honour sits," Alan indicated Jeff's leather seat from the study. "Sit down, Dad."

Jeff stared at his chair; draped in gold cloth and positioned at the apex of the amphitheatre. "Guest of honour? What's going on? Scott?"

"All good things come to those who wait," Scott replied and grinned at the exasperated expression that crossed his father's features. "We have a bit of housekeeping to do first." He waited until Tin-Tin and Kyrano had taken their places beside those who were already seated. "Sorted, Virg?"

"Nearly." Virgil and Brains had shifted the piano keyboard from where Virgil had been unobtrusively accompanying John's solo, to beside the last chair on Jeff's right. Then Brains retreated to the vacant seat beside Kyrano, while Grandma and the younger Tracys claimed the seats on the other side of the 'auditorium'.

"What…" Jeff began but was silenced when his eldest son laid a hand on his shoulder. He decided that he may as well sit back and go with the flow.

Scott straightened the sheets of papers that he held in his hand and began speaking. "I'd always thought that years ago, as a child, I'd experienced the lowest that a person could feel emotionally; but one week this month revealed to me that I hadn't even begun to plumb the depths of human emotion." He held up his hand; palm foremost. "I'd like to take this moment to apologise to everyone for each time that I've snapped or growled at you." He turned to Lady Penelope. "Especially when all you were doing was offering to give us some much needed help." He lowered his hand and gave a slight nod to his brothers. As Gordon and Alan each retrieved a parcel from under their seats and stood, Scott continued speaking. "Penny… Parker… We all would like to thank you for doing what none of us were prepared to do and actually consider that perhaps Alan hadn't been hallucinating. Please accept these gifts from the Tracy family as a token of the gratitude we feel for all that you've done in bringing Father home to us."

With a 'thank you', Lady Penelope accepted a small, handcrafted, wooden box from Alan. On its lid had been painted a scene of Tracy Island, while embossed on either side of the lock was a palm tree.

"Ta, Mister Gordon," Parker acknowledged as he received a similar item.

"You may not know that not only is Alan a speed-freak and a seer of ghosts," Scott smiled, "but he also possesses some talent in woodcraft. He made the boxes. Virgil painted the scene on the lid and Gordon came up with the idea of the secret compartment."

"If you open the lid right out and push the palm trees away from each other," Gordon explained, "the false bottom springs open."

"Really?" Curious, Lady Penelope did as she had been instructed. There was a pop, and everyone jumped in surprise as a cloud of smoke rose from the box. The aristocrat, along with those nearest to her, found themselves covered in confetti. "Oh, my!"

Four Tracy brothers groaned. "Gordon!" John shook his head in exasperation. "Did you have to?"

Gordon gave an unconcerned shrug and brushed a bit of orange confetti off his shoulder. "Yep." He returned to his seat beside John and fixed him with an engaging smile. He was rewarded with an un-angelic frown.

"Dare h-I try mine?" Parker asked, with a bushy eyebrow raised at the prankster.

Gordon winked. "If you want."

"Maybe later, Sir. H-If you don't mind."

"Do not concern yourself, dear girl," Lady Penelope requested of Tin-Tin, who was trying to extract coloured bits of paper from blonde hair. "I'm sure Scott would like to return to the proceedings at hand."

"Thanks, Penny." Scott had been shooting Gordon a glare that promised retribution at an appropriate time. "Now, where was I?" He folded the top sheet of paper and shoved it into his pocket. "Oh, yes… There is someone else to whom we all would like extend a vote of thanks… as well as a sincere apology. On your feet, Alan."

Alan looked about in surprise. "What?"

Gordon grabbed his elbow and tried to push his younger brother into a standing position. "Get up."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," John insisted.

Clearly reluctant, Alan got to his feet. "This wasn't part of the plan."

"Yes, it was," Scott corrected. "You didn't know about it, that's all… Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin stood. "Alan," she said and walked across the open area between them. "This is from us all. We hope that you can forgive us for not believing and trusting you." She pressed a parcel into his hands.

"But… But the guys are going up to Thunderbird Five in my place! That was the agreement! I wasn't expecting…" The kiss on the cheek he received from his girlfriend dried up Alan's flow of speech. "Uh…" He remained standing, staring at the white box, as she returned to her seat.

"Open it, Alan," Grandma prompted.

Alan glanced at her before he slipped the lid off the box and peered inside. His face lit up. "Wow! The Thrust SSC!"

"What you wanted?" Scott asked with a wry grin.

Alan looked at his brother, his eyes shining in gratitude. "A model of the first land vehicle to break the sound barrier…? I'll say. Thank you! But how did you know I wanted one? How did you get it? They were a limited edition. They are out of production. They were made years ago… They're impossible to get!"

Scott laid a finger on the side of his nose. "Let's just say that some of us have friends in high places… and that Gordon's nosey."

"And that impossible isn't a word in International Rescue's vocabulary," John added.

"Yep," Gordon chipped in. "We can even bring the dead back to life."

Alan looked back inside his box. "Wow!" he repeated.

"Does this mean I don't have to go to Thunderbird Five in your place?" Virgil teased.

"Sit down, Alan, so we can make a start on Dad," Gordon pulled on his brother's arm before reaching behind his seat.

"Huh? Oh, right," Alan mumbled. He dropped back into his seat and, after one final look inside, carefully replaced the lid and pushed the box under his chair.

"And now," Scott began with an air of someone who was about to make a grand announcement. "We come to the reason why we're all here. Drum roll, Virgil."

Virgil pushed a button on his keyboard and the sound of drums rolled over the lookout.

"Jefferson Tracy," Scott began, "we have gathered here together…"

"To join this man and this lookout in holy matrimony…" Gordon shrunk back from the frowns he received from everyone. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, as he looked down at the guitar in his hands. "I'll shut up."

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Scott continued. "We are here to celebrate the life and non-death of a man who means a lot to us all: as friend, son, and father. Someone who I don't think anyone realised meant so much to us, until we thought we'd lost him forever."

A gentle melody wafted across the landscape. As an accompaniment to Scott's words, Gordon was strumming a tune on his guitar.

Scott laid his hand on Jeff's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "At our lowest point, when we thought we'd lost you, we thought we were going to lose our home, we were concerned for Alan's wellbeing, and we were scared that we were drifting apart; we, that is the five of us, came up here to try to pull ourselves together. We talked, we remembered good times and bad; and we gained strength from each other, our memories, and our surroundings… Father, as I know you are aware, there is something special about this place and together, the five of us decided that it would be fitting if it took on the name of someone special; someone who meant the world to us."

Jeff began to get an embarrassed feeling that he knew who that person was.

"And so," Scott nodded at Alan, "we would appreciate it if you do the honour of christening this lookout."

Alan stepped forward holding a box topped with a large red button. "Dad," he requested, "when you press this, look over there." He pointed to the edge of the lookout and for the first time Jeff noticed that an object was positioned there, shrouded in the same type of burgundy cloth as most of the chairs.

Jeff accepted the panel. "Boys…" he protested.

"Shush," he was told by various quarters. "It's not your turn yet." He sat back: silenced.

"Once again we've all had a hand in this," Scott explained. "You'll understand when you push that button…" He paused; a frown on his face. "Gordon… You haven't added anything 'extra', have you?"

Gordon looked affronted at the suggestion. "To spoil Dad's celebration? Of course not!"

"I'm just thinking what your task was," Scott mused.

"Scott! Relax will ya!" Gordon pouted. "I haven't done anything that we hadn't agreed on."

"I was watching him like a hawk while I was checking the radio signal," John revealed. "He hasn't had the chance."

"Yeah… But I had those boxes in my room," Scott said, clearly unconvinced. "I'm still trying to work out when he booby-trapped them."

"I haven't done anything to the… the… thing!" Gordon protested again, gesturing towards the burgundy cloth. "I promise! Scout's honour!"

It was too much for Jeff. He burst out laughing. "I'm glad to see that nothing's changed around here. Are you sure this button is safe to push, Gordon?"

"Dad!"

"All right, I trust you," Jeff chuckled.

"Brains wired up the button so you don't need to worry," Virgil reassured him.

"Carry on, Scott," John sighed.

"I've lost my place…" Scott was going through his notes. "Ah! Here we are… No… I've done that bit…"

Jeff burst out laughing again, accompanied by titters from various sections of the group opposite his sons. "I'm glad you got Pen Fordbury to organise the concert."

Exasperated, Scott threw up his hands. "I don't know why I bothered. I can't organise anything…" His "like this," was obliterated by a roar of laughter from the assembled group. He decided to skip much of what he'd written and proceed to the climax of the celebration. "And so, Father, as a mark of the respect and affection that we have for you, we have decided that this lookout deserves a name. We would like you to unveil the name."

Jeff looked at the button and briefly considered denying their request. Then he decided that he was flattered enough to accept. "Do you want me to push this now?"

Scott nodded. "Yes, please."

Jeff placed his palm over the red knob and depressed it. As a fanfare sounded; a wave of fireworks burst into the air and the burgundy cover slid to the ground revealing a white sign, the legend 'Jefferson Lookout' clearly readable in black.

"We've all signed it," Scott said. "Come and look."

Jeff climbed out of his chair and wandered over to the piece of wood bearing his name. On the back and around the support were etched eleven signatures. The top of the post was blank.

Scott handed his father a laser pen. "We'd like your signature on the top; to sign off the change of name as it were."

"Sign off the change of name? We'll make a desk jockey out of you yet, Scott," Jeff teased. "And what if I don't approve of this transaction?" He winked, took the pen, and engraved his name into the flat surface of the post with a flourish before turning back to the group. "Thank you: all of you. This has been a wonderful afternoon and came as a complete surprise; and I appreciate all the thought and effort you've all put into it…" He looked at Scott. "Am I allowed to speak now, Mr Chairman?"

Scott made a show of going through his notes. "That is the next item on the agenda."

"After all that," Jeff chuckled, "I don't think I've got anything to say except thank you. You've all helped me remember something that I'd managed to forget: that I am a very lucky man. Thank you, everyone." He looked back at Scott. "What's next on the agenda?"

"Party!" Scott rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Where's the food? I'm starving!"

"You always are, Scott," Virgil reminded him. "Well…" he amended remembering a time not so long ago. "You usually are."

"It's been quite a month, hasn't it?" Jeff ran his finger along the top of Jefferson Lookout's sign and his smile dissolved. "I suppose that I should feel sorry for Angus Brett because he's never known what it's like to have love and support like this from family and friends… But, I will admit, after reading what he said about me and my family and knowing what he did to us all, it's hard to feel anything more positive than apathy towards him…"

"Jeff?" His mother was sounding concerned.

He smiled at her. "I'm all right, Mother. I'm not going to let one man get me down; not after such a wonderful celebration… And as for Miles and Earl," now Jeff sounded defiant, "let them try to stop me! I'm not going to be stupid and leave myself open to whatever they've got planned for me, but equally I'm not going to let them live my life for me! I aim to make sure that they get locked away so they can never hurt another soul… And if that means staying on this island for however long it takes: then so be it! It's mine and no one is going to trick it out from under me!"

"Hear, hear," Gordon cheered. "You tell them, Dad."

"There will be times when I will have to go to the States," Jeff continued, "but only when it's absolutely necessary. When I do I promise that I'll take all necessary precautions; which will mean that I'm going to have to rely on your help, Penny."

She inclined her head. "I am at your service, Jeff. Parker and I are always willing to help," she looked at Alan, "no matter how odd the request." He beamed at her.

Jeff had turned to his sons. "You boys will have to do more work at the office."

They looked between each other. "You'll have to give us some training, Father," Virgil said.

"I know, but you're all bright boys. You won't have any trouble… And talking of trouble…" Jeff glanced at Gordon. "Let me guess… You were in charge of the fireworks tonight?"

"With Alan's help, yeah."

"I'm not surprised your brothers were concerned." At the sight of his son's suddenly downcast face, Jeff wrapped an arm about his shoulders and squeezed. "I'm joking, Son… It created a wonderful effect."

Gordon brightened. "Thanks, Dad."

"Thank you, Kyrano." Jeff took something to eat off the tray that his friend was holding out to him, before looking at the changes to the lookout. "How did you get everything up here?"

"Various bits of equipment and a lot of manpower," Alan admitted, helping himself to a snack. "We thought you might have got suspicious if you'd seen Thunderbird Two hovering over the island."

Lady Penelope was talking to John. "That was a wonderful rendition of Nessun Dorma, dear boy. You do have a lovely voice… and the effect of you standing on the rock with the sun behind you... It was quite stunning."

John turned pink and gave an embarrassed smile. "Thanks, Penny," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking down to where his toe was stubbing the dirt on the ground. "It was Grandma's idea."

"Aw… Has Johnny gone all shy?" Gordon teased, and earned a glare from his brother.

"How did you get here, Penny?" Jeff asked. "I didn't hear your plane arrive."

"That was the plan. Parker and I flew here while you were on your walk," Lady Penelope admitted. "Scott had everything planned like a military operation."

"Until the lower ranks spoilt it," Scott growled, glaring at Gordon. "Grandma let us know when the pair of you were around on the other side of the island where the surf's rough. We figured Penny would be able to sneak the plane in and you'd never hear it."

"You figured correctly," Jeff admitted

"Hey, Dad," Gordon piped up, his earlier pique forgotten. "If you are ever broke for real, you'll be able to sell the Jefferson Lookout notice. After all it's signed by a murderer, a car thief…" Confused frowns appeared on the faces of most of the people present as he rambled on. "A ra…"

John grabbed his red-headed brother in a head lock. "It's okay everyone; I've got him under control. You guys carry on and I'll throw him off the cliff."

"Leave him, John." Scott had an evil grin as he selected something else to eat. "I'll take care of him later. I'm sure I can make it look like an accident."

"Is there any chance you're related to Earl?" Alan asked. "I can see similarities in your _modus operandi."_

"John!" Muffled by John's sleeves, Gordon's voice was somewhat indistinct. "I can't breathe through your bat wings. Will you let me go?"

"Will you behave?"

"Promise."

John released him and Gordon straightened up, making a show of trying to remove bits of lint from his mouth.

"Mr Tracy." In his usual unobtrusive manner, Kyrano had appeared at Jeff's right shoulder holding a tray with a single champagne flute. "Would you care for a drink?"

Jeff took the glass. "Thank you, Kyrano." He turned to his left to find his mother standing there with a tray of even more delicious-looking snacks.

"Would you like one, Jeff?"

"Thank you, Mother… for everything."

Mrs Tracy smiled at him before she bustled away to make sure that everyone had something to eat. When she reached Virgil, her grandson hesitated. "No, thank you."

"Oh, go on with you. One won't hurt."

"Well," Virgil wavered. "I guess not." He picked up a sweet. "Though I shouldn't really eat this…"

"In that case I'll have it." Quick as a flash Scott whipped the sweet out of his brother's hand and popped it into his own mouth. He grinned at Virgil's expression of dismay.

Grandma leant close to Virgil's ear. "Don't worry, Honey. I've made extra. They freeze well so you can have them when you come back from Thunderbird Five."

Virgil brightened. "Thanks, Grandma."

Jeff accepted another morsel. "Virgil, I think I'll have to come up to Thunderbird Five with you. Grandma's determined to make me gain weight."

"I don't see you turning anything down," she retorted. "What can I get you, Brains, dear? Some more of these? I know you like them."

Starting to feel smothered by her continuing attempts to make amends, Brains reddened and took a step backwards. "I-I am fine, thank you, ah, Mrs Tracy. I, like M-M-Mist-t-t… Virgil, appear to have gained some weight. I sh-shall have to go on a diet too."

"Looks like you're going to have plenty of company on Thunderbird Five, Virg," Alan teased.

Scott tapped the laser pen against the side of his glass. "Excuse me! Has everyone got their drinks…? Good." He winked at his father. "If International Rescue gets called out now we're going to be flying under the influence of alcohol." He raised his glass. "Ladies and Gentlemen… And Gordon…"

"Hey!"

Scott laughed at his brother's indignation. "Ladies and Gentlemen. I give you Jefferson Lookout and Jefferson Tracy!" There were various murmurings of agreement and support as he brought the champagne flute to his lips.

Watches started beeping and, as one, the brothers groaned and lowered their glasses. Scott placed his flute on Kyrano's tray. "Sorry, Father."

"That's okay, Son, I understand. Thank you for a wonderful evening… Thank you everyone…" Jeff opened his arms in an all embracing gesture. "Now get going," he ordered. "Report back as soon as you get there, Scott."

Scott grinned at International Rescue's commander and flipped him a salute. "Yes, Sir! Come on, fellas." The five young men took off down the track at a run.

"Do you w-want to go down too, M-Mr Tracy?" Brains asked. "We'll clean up here."

"I'll wait," Jeff said. "I've never watched the Thunderbirds launch from up here before. Besides, the boys have shown themselves more than capable of handling International Rescue business without my help." He raised an eyebrow and an impish grin, an echo of Gordon's, crossed his face. "Anyone care to wager on who'll be first to reach the villa? Winner gets to finish off the leftovers… I'm backing Scott. Mother?"

"You're betting on your sons when they are running to rescue someone?"

"Yes."

"In that case my money's on John's long legs."

"How about you, Penny?"

Lady Penelope looked amused by the idea. "Thank you, Jeff, but I think I shall decline. I must watch my waistline."

"Rubbish…" Jeff turned to the other young lady present. "Tin-Tin? I guess you want Alan?"

Tin-Tin coloured slightly as her mind took a roundabout route to her answer. "Yes, please, Mr Tracy."

"Brains?" Jeff asked.

"Knowing his c-competitive drive," Brains said. "I'll, ah, choose Gordon."

"Good choice, except he's not in his element at the moment." Jeff looked about. "Kyrano's off tidying up, so I guess Virgil's yours, Parker."

"Thank you, Mr Tracy." Parker wasn't looking too hopeful at his chances of success.

"There they are!" Tin-Tin pointed down to where the lookout track met the main coastal path. "Come on, Alan!"

"Virgil's fitter than he thought," Jeff said as he watched his five sons. "There's nothing between them, Parker; you're in with a chance. Come on, Scott!"

"Of course, they don't know that this is a race," Mrs Tracy remarked. "We're cheering for no good reason… Go, John!"

"C-C-Come on, G-G-G," Brains stuttered. "G-G-Go G-G-G…" He gave up. "Swim!"

"Run, Mister Virgil," Parker yelled. "Run!"

"Go, Scott!"

"Run, John!"

"You can do it, Alan!"

"Swim!"

"Faster, Mister Virgil…"

Oblivious to the encouragement that they were receiving from the lookout, the five racers sprinted along the path that skirted the shoreline. They reached the home complex and disappeared behind a building.

"Well," Jeff turned back to his friends. "I'd call that a draw. Do we share the spoils or leave them for the boys when they get back?"

Everyone agreed to leave them.

"Oh, well. Lucky last." Jeff picked up one of his favourites and chewed on it happily. "Mother, these are delicious!"

She smiled at his obvious delight. "It's good to hear you say that, Jeff?"

He glared at his watch; his face suddenly serious. "Look at how much time we've wasted! Under normal circumstances we would have a plan of attack worked out by now, but, as it is, Scott'll have to wait until John's made contact before he has any idea what they're up against. The sooner we get Thunderbird Five manned the better."

"There 'e goes now!" Parker pointed as Thunderbird One flared up towards the sky.

The rocket plane rose into the air and then levelled off, skimming along just above those standing on Jefferson Lookout. She did a barrel roll before gathering speed and zooming off over the Pacific.

Jeff winked at Tin-Tin. "Show off."

Thunderbird One's sonic boom had already receded when they saw Thunderbird Two appear at the end of the runway. From their height advantage on Jefferson Lookout and with the palm trees tilted away from the craft, the great aeroplane gave no indication of her massive size. It wasn't until she had lifted off into the air and, like her sister craft, made a slow fly-past, that her awe inspiring bulk became obvious.

Seconds later the sonic boom from Thunderbird Two hit Tracy Island.

Jeff Tracy watched his sons go before raising his champagne glass in the direction of the departing Thunderbirds. "To International Rescue," he proposed and a broad smile creased his face. "Thunderbirds are go."

_The end._

_I promise._

_I think..._

_What happened to Miles and Earl? I can't tell you because the case is still sub judice._

_Is International Rescue still going? Of course it is._

_Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this story. And thanks again to those who reviewed._

:-)

_Purupuss_


End file.
